Cold are the leaves of the tree
I climb to the top
I need that yellow fruit
But not for me.

Wind cutting through my skin
Rain falling down my face
They must not see my pain
Keep the tears within.

I hope I don't fall
No time to stretch
Unless I have the fruit
They will not catch.

The sea sounds as I try to think
Anger and vengeance
turn my blood into ink
One day we'll come face to face
This letter is for the ultimate debt-collector
Please, deliver
to the white disgrace

Behind the horizon
Nature's clock sets
Waking up sleep

Behind the waves, you better hide
I'll let the anchor of work
Drag me to the deep

Granting you another night.