It's hard not to feel deflated
 When you really tryto do the right thing
 And you don't get half the way

 He cleans up the forest-floon
 He practices some steps he'd never seen before
 So unaware that she's a swing door
 Left in fainted feelings on the empty stage once more

 Limestones, bay leaves, dinner snail
 With all that effort he can hardly fail
 But will she stay?
 Will she fly?
 Will she sing?
 Find a suitable treetop to make a new home
 Or does he have to wait till next spring?
 It's adusky dawn day
 And if you carefully listen
 You would hear him say: