Now, down in that rut, Owl’s up to his beak, and down in that rut, Tigger’s in to his teeth. The great tree sways, rumbles and bends, and Pooh can well see where this story ends.
The wind whispers no secrets,
And the birds sing no song.
It’s all gone horribly, horribly... somewhere else.
Love this little subversion.
The wind whispers no secrets,
And the birds sing no song.
It’s all gone horribly, horribly... somewhere else.
Love this little subversion.