The bard feels all sung out
As the world around him sleeps
He is the only one left
In the right sense of mind
Who doesn't feel strung out
So he sets to write a merry tune
'pon his lute so fine
For come the morning
When the people awake
An old tune just won't shine
He tries and tries
Till the **** does crow
But sadly sunrise comes
The women start to knead their dough
To cook their breakfast buns
And the poor old Bard
In this moment did find
Of songs he wrote not a single one
And he now is out of time
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
The bard feels all sung out
As the world around him sleeps
He is the only one left
In the right sense of mind
Who doesn't feel strung out
So he sets to write a merry tune
'pon his lute so fine
For come the morning
When the people awake
An old tune just won't shine
He tries and tries
Till the **** does crow
But sadly sunrise comes
The women start to knead their dough
To cook their breakfast buns
And the poor old Bard
In this moment did find
Of songs he wrote not a single one
And he now is out of time
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