My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I don't care if it kills the mood- this poem is suicide ideation to me. And if I ever sing the Ned Rorem song, it will be with that in mind.
I'm never gonna be a good soprano at this rate.
