And it was one of the silliest stories ever told
From beginning to end, it made no sense
It could be that trouble is already a-brewing
With or without pride and fortune
Now the end has come
But why must you depart,
When there is still space in this world
For another Kindheart?
The length and breadth of this world
Till you find your spot, without doubt
Is it wise?
The mother-bird leaves her chicks
And flies away every morning
'Tis the beginning; 'tis the end
I am a child; a pauper
But the whole world is on my shoulder