So tall he stands, as from a dream. I stroke his spine, but without a purr He whistles back, To me he lures. Hands rest softly, Knees bent weak, I close my eyes to hear him speak: "Child, baby, sell your soul. It's me to whom your secrets told. Sit down, be still, and feel me breathe. Be sure you know me before you leave. Alone forever, a tribe you'll lack, I love you baby, so whistle back."
One single tear sent down my cheek. My eyes are open, but hands still meek. A slave myself, I'll never be free; I belong to him, my friend, the tree.