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Robin Egg Blue
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Cass McCombs
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1
By all accounts, accounts it's true
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Not that it matters much, much to the Blue
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To the Blue, to the Blue
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Heather Burns went, went to the field
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To gather robin's eggs, eggs for her meal
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For her meal, for her meal
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Walking, she thought about
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A coward, years ago
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"Saint Jude, when will I learn?"
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A snake side-winded
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across her broken path
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But Heather knew better and thought
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"What is done is drone, what's done is done"
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By all accounts, accounts it's fine
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"One egg for Saint Jude, one egg is mine,
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one is mine, one is mine"
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She saw a nest, nest in an elm
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Not-so high, yet another realm
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Another realm, another realm
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Reaching up, she felt
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Two eggs with her fingers
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And lightly picked them out
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And lowering, one fell down
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"one for Jude!", the shake said
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But heather knew better and thought:
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"What is done is done, what's done is done"
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"Can't we raise the Dead anew?
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Call me Robin Egg Blue"
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By all accounts, accounts it's through
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Not that it matters much to Robin Egg Blue
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Robin Egg Blue, Robin Egg Blue
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The snake followed her home
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Along the broken path
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The field needed to be burned
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Inside, she set the egg down
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"Should I not have been hungry?"
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But Heather knew better and thought:
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"What is done is done, what's done is done"
Cass McCombs: Tiny Desk Concert
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