Tree

Some times I think I’m a tree.
Bent over, looking into a sea,
Of crimson tones and deadly Melodies
Who’s roots have reached in to deep.

Sometimes I think I’m a wolf.
That’s stayed to far from is pack.
That can’t find his own way back.
A lonely bastard without a dad.

I’m glued and nailed to a Freight train
Forced the push to move straight,
Down a line of sober thoughts
To a mine of shit I don’t want.

My roots have grounded me to the floor.
Begging and asking me for more and more.
And it feels fiery and tense like war,
With motors and bombs resting at my door.

And I hear the cries of my long lost kin,
They cried and scream because of me
In this loneliness I am free,
Walking a hollowed out fucked up dream.

But as the wolf inside my lies.
On the ground ready to die.
A weeping wallow stales his cries,
It is not time to say goodbye

For this world gave you life,
You took her food,
And now it’s time that you understood,
That when the line ends and you’re heart beats stops,
I the Weeping Willow will be your God.

Tree

correctanswer

Joined April 2010

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