It's just a sign of the times
it's just a passing feeling
this sense of falling
I keep my hands buried in the soil
hoping they will root there
making me a part of something
I can understand
Making me a part of
something constant

The trees are my favorite beings
they are grounded in a way
I could never relate to
Sometimes I stop along my path
and press my back against the trunks
hoping they will absorb me
Making me a part of
something I can rely on
making me a part of
something lasting

Through all the fabrics of my being
there's this vague sense of searching
or maybe just of wandering
it's hard to know the difference
I try to keep my footing on the road forward
and suddenly there's this feeling of realization:
that in this life made of coincidences and longing
some of us grow up to be trees
and some of us grow up to be travelers