Often I think about the feral child
I can't help but wonder if he knows he's wild?

I can't help but think of the feral child
I wonder if he knows he's wild?

I open my eyes before I wake up,
     and I turn
           to settle down my feet upon the soil.
But the ground cannot be found.
To my surprise find I break up,
     and burn
           the heat from the metal on my crown;
           searing the loyal.
Recoil without a sound.
I keep it on, though kingdom gone,
The price to be royal is profound.

I have lost touch with the land.
I have lost touch with the land.
I have lost much, and through my hand
desperately I clutch
my home, realizing I demand too much.
This isn't what I planned.
I have lost touch with the land.
I may or may not understand
why within grasp that which must stay,
crumbled at last gasp and turned to sand

I have lost touch with the land
I have lost touch with the land
I have lost touch with the land
Much I do, much I don't
this much I understand.