Autumn's Here

Ever think to yourself, 'This would be a good season to start mountain climbing'?
Me neither.

Speaking of dying, I've got this recent issue that I'm somewhat out of sorts with.
It started with Colin's room, but, favouring my bed lately to my couch, in the hopes that I'll have some woman or another in it soon, I've had it happen with my room as well.
There's this bird. I haven't seen him or her. They have.
But there's this bird. That keeps flying into our bedroom windows. Every morning.
Noon, every day, on the nose.
Just kidding. Like, six, seven in the morning.
And this bird just flies into the glass, repeatedly, unless I hit it from my end to startle it away.
Isn't this a classic omen? A bird flying into your window?
Doesn't that mean someone's going to die?
It's probably going to be me.
But I have to win the lottery first.
Or find that special someone to share a couch with.
Then I'll die.
And the bird will say, "Finally. My head hurts."