SMOL

  • Id:

    53fe8437ce4e4b0e36260f83a6ec25da8235e5313d195d4f5f14a93071facc43
    safe

  • Prompt:

    An epic folk ballad telling the rugged tale of a mountain family who endure hard seasons and harsh lands, living by wit, will, and the wild harvest of morel mushrooms. Create a song in the style of Fairport Convention and the Dubliners.

  • Image: (powered by PixelLab)

    The Morel Season

  • Description:

    The image depicts a serene scene of a mountainous landscape with a group of mushrooms growing on the side of a hill. The mushrooms are in various sizes and shapes, creating a diverse and vibrant display. The environment is lush and green, with a few trees scattered throughout the scene. The overall atmosphere is one of tranquility and harmony with nature, as the mushrooms seem to be thriving in their natural habitat.

  • Songs: (powered by AI Song Generator)

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  • Lyrics:

    Title: The Morel Season
Tags: Folk, Appalachian, Storytelling, Troubadour

[Verse 1]
Up in the folds of the cold mountain side,
Where the mist clings low and the tall pines hide,
Lived a clan with hands worn tough as bark,
Their hearts beat strong through the dawn and dark.

[Chorus]
Oh the morel season, bless the hills,
Where the earth gives life 'neath the frost and stills.
We reap what we find, by grace and grit,
In a land that don’t forgive, but won't forget.

[Verse 2]
Mama brews tea with the fire so slow,
Papa traps lines where the cold streams flow.
Children run wild through the moss and fern,
Learning which roots heal and which ones burn.

[Chorus]
Oh the morel season, we bow our heads,
To the gifts of spring in our riverbeds.
Through sleet and sorrow, we sing our due,
To the fungi gold in the morning dew.

[Bridge]
Storms roll down like God’s own sigh,
But we stand firm, and we survive.
Each morel found is a tale retold,
Of the ones before, and the hands they hold.

[Chorus]
Oh the morel season, sweet and wild,
Feeds the soul of every mountain child.
We gather with joy, through sweat and song,
Where the humble thrive, and the proud don’t belong.

[Outro]
[Refrain]
And the land, she loves the faithful feet,
That tread her trails in cold and heat.
Oh the morel season, it calls us home,
To the green, the stone, and the wild unknown.

[End]