| I get these troubled thoughts | |
| on tails and how they're chased. | |
| You'll settle down for one, or two. | |
| Two is really harsh, but by the time you get the craft, | |
| there comes a little tease for three. | |
| What a mess. | |
| All this love will soon be cherished. | |
| I promise I won't go to four. | |
| I'll weep until my eyes get sore. | |
| Tell me more, oh tell me more, | |
| there's no need for crying. | |
| Love can be tiring thing. | |
| At least for those who rush and forget to feel the scent | |
| of lonely little birds in the spring. | |
| And the silly songs that they sing. | |
| Lyrics don't apply when your heart is full of blood. | |
| Be gentle to the birds that pass you on your way. | |
| I could go on. | |
| Please then go on. | |
| Why don't you go on? | |
| There's no need to go on. | |
| As when time is spent, | |
| all of the paths lead back to four. | |
| Don't forget to weep, | |
| and count when they are torn. | |
| As for my part, | |
| I hope your eyes get sore. |
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