Never Never trouble much,
Save the oats for sowing.
Never thought I'd amount to much
But the piper says I'm owing.
True I should give up the dream,
Save the writing for the dead.
They never come just as they seem,
when they visit me in bed.
Should I long for better things?
Security is fine and fair,
But my heart is stitched to wings,
Contentment cannot find me there.
But alas, I'll soon be out,
Nothing left for me to dread.
He will find me, have no doubt;
Contentment: and I'll be dead.