The forest is filled with hungry predators, and your eggs are just the low-effort prey for which they hope. Your speed and accuracy may foil them for a while. Even discourage some. But the hordes lay eggs too, and they will one day overrun you. Rather than dispair, enjoy the fight while you can, rendered in glass and sketch pad pencil scribbles as you are. The hearts will give you hope of longevity, the skulls the momentary cleansing violence, but the rhythm will continue. You alone decide when the song will end.