The mockingbird heralds
Each new sunrise.
This morning unbeknownst to it

Man declares it to be
A whole new year in its life.

So, sing on my friend.
May we enjoy many more days
Of your lovely song.

Please tell me the ending is good—
I don’t want to get lost.
I feel trapped in a wood
I don't know the path of


The voices whisper,
“Follow the glowing lights,”
but there’s nothing in sight—
just imposters dressed in white,
waiting to catch me
when I’m too tired to fight.

And believe me, I’m tired.
Nothing gets me inspired
I don’t even recognize the girl in the mirror.

Each morning, I stand,
staring at her silhouette—
thinner,
slimmer.
I linger on her figure and wonder,
“Did I wrong her?
She deserved so much more.”

But no one sees that.
So, I play along,
pretending to be strong—
like I’ve done for so long,
just to belong.

Please tell me the ending is good.
Because if it’s not,
I’ll have to build a house
in the woods

Can you just leave me to cry
And not ask me to explain myself?
Let my tear travel down my cheek
Don't corrupt her journey
She is carrying more weight than you could ever hold
So let her do her job
And don't try to be our hero

Awake! arise! the hour is late!
Angels are knocking at thy door!
They are in haste and cannot wait,
And once departed come no more.

Awake! arise! the athlete’s arm
Loses its strength by too much rest;
The fallow land, the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best.

Come and let us live my Dear,
Let us love and never fear,
What the sourest Fathers say:
Brightest Sol that dies today
Lives again as blithe tomorrow,
But if we dark sons of sorrow
Set; o then, how long a Night
Shuts the Eyes of our short light!
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips, begin to tell
A Thousand, and a Hundred, score
An Hundred, and a Thousand more,
Till another Thousand smother
That, and that wipe off another.
Thus at last when we have numb’red
Many a Thousand, many a Hundred;
We’ll confound the reckoning quite,
And lose ourselves in wild delight:
While our joys so multiply,
As shall mock the envious eye.

A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
  And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
  My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
  Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.--
When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
  And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
  Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
  Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
  Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.

i dont know what to do anymore