It's not that I choose the worst girls
Oh no, I only choose perfect shining pearls
It's that the pearls don't choose me
and that's my problem you see?

'It's the right thing to do'
doesn't make it hurt any less
I'm happy just being friends,
but it means my life's a mess.

He didn't even fight
Walking with his head straight up
As if not even afraid
Of the grim end awaiting him
By the end of a rope

The executioner offered his hand
To help him get up on the gallows
He agreed on the help of his killer
And directed to him his final words:

"Here, in my final sunset
I thank thee for helping
Don't worry about the rest
I'll go down myself"

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.