Oh, you foolish ***** within my chest,
- you hardly pump adequate blood through me
- an' should I rise too quick: I'll fall t'wards me' feet;
- upon an ole' wooden floor: I'll make my nest.
Yay- tis' where I'll take a brief, uninvited rest!

What - then, heart, makes you dream o' bliss an' glee
- which all seem to revolve round' that fairy
-- the one with the gems on her fingers an' neck?

Oh- you silly an' foolish heart, you,
- you know you could end up a shade o' navy.
Oh- but she makes you sing jingles so merrily
- when you witness such a beautiful view!
Oh- you know you may be hurt, greatly,
- but - even still - you dream on carelessly.

She who summons those songbirds with ease
- will be - in each life - much too good for me;
- though, - a mean, mannish boy can dream
- bout' those eyes that shimmer an' gleam.
                                Yay!
Tis' early April - an' I've proven myself a fool
- for I'm dreaming bout' that glimmering jewel.
                               Nay!
The things I do dream : they may not ever be
- but I refuse ta' let my blind eyes know they can't see.
                                ---
So -- even still - I continue to dream
- an' stay, so ignorantly, full o' glee.
                                 ---
*I am, but, a fool.
Yay - one who'll
 - stay adoring
 - that glimmering jewel
- o' a human being.

Those ole,' sky-high birch trees grew askew
- due to the harsh an' relentless winds that blew
- through those high an' rolling, golden prairies.
Tis' that place where all o' the remaining Fairies  
- tended to merrily roam an' call their home.
Tis' there where all the weeds're overgrown
-an', yet, no one, much, seems to mind
- for it all seems ta' be perfectly designed;
-- an' nothing could ever change it's beauty
-- less, o' course, humans should choose ta' act crudely.

If only - he knew
- which o' these warm words to use
- whilst speaking to you.

Thee songbirds fly straight t'wards her hand
- an', to be honest, I completely understand
- why they, all, make their way into her palms;
- she catches ones eye like ancient artifacts o' bronze,
- or shining, gem-crested rings made o' silver or gold,
- or leather, hard spined books that're, ever so, old!
Yay- she shone like a quartz crystal in the sunlight
- an' caused all the bandits to pause their gunfight
- as they admired her crossing the street
- with big, ole' fairy boots on her feet!

With the cruel, cold an' blustery storm
- comes the need for humanity to find warmth.
Yay- it causes me bones ta' freeze so quick
- and crack under pressure like fallen twigs.
Nay - there'll be no hunting, nor gathering, today;
- for - we've, all, been ignored by the Suns rays
- an' this wicked wind storm looks here to stay.

Yay- a fierce an' frigid winter wind
- keeps all o' the peasants confined
- to, each, their own homes an' dens.
Or- rather - wherever they were when
- that brisk breeze began to blow
- an' the foggy sky began to snow.

I attempt to stay clear of thoughts, so, sour
- but, regardless, I find my mind devoured
- by the dark figure, cloaked in a robe o' black;
- he's taken hold o' my brain an' won't give it back.
He has a vice-like grip on the fabric of my soul;
- yay - he seems to have stolen all control.

Oh -- when the wind blows
- an' there's no one around:
- my troubled mind - she goes
- spinning right round an' around.

To find oneself relieved of any outstanding grieve,
- into the late hours of this wicked winter's eve,
- shan't be my fortune tonight - I do tru-ly believe.

This storm leaves humanity nestled in its dens
- waiting out that cold an' fierce winter wind;
- an' the fog that rolls in : it's, ever, so dense.

T'was the day they trimmed him mane
- an',  suddenly, he looked - just - the same
- as every other peasant boy being sent to war;
- an' they never questioned what they're dying for.