By all accounts, accounts it's true
Not that it matters much, much to the Blue
To the Blue, to the Blue
Heather Burns went, went to the field
To gather robin's eggs, eggs for her meal
For her meal, for her meal

Walking, she thought about
A coward, years ago
"Saint Jude, when will I learn?"
A snake side-winded
Across her broken path
But Heather knew better and thought
"What is done is done, what's done is done"

By all accounts, accounts it's fine
"One egg for Saint Jude, one egg is mine
One is mine, one is mine"
She saw a nest, nest in an elm
Not-so high, yet another realm
Another realm, another realm

Reaching up, she felt
Two eggs with her fingers
And lightly picked them out
And lowering, one fell down
"one for Jude!", the shake said
But heather knew better and thought:
"What is done is done, what's done is done"
"Can't we raise the Dead anew?
Call me Robin Egg Blue"

By all accounts, accounts it's through
Not that it matters much to Robin Egg Blue
Robin Egg Blue, Robin Egg Blue

The snake followed her home
Along the broken path
The field needed to be burned
Inside, she set the egg down
"Should I not have been hungry?"
But Heather knew better and thought:
"What is done is done, what's done is done"