They’re just walking by Idle sticks and logs and twigs Wayward trees passing to and fro In their forests of isolation The birds don’t sing there If they do Then each tree hears its own tune My tree is cut Just a stump Just my luck I have no birds to sing anyway Accept for this one wayward jay It’s less of a song More of an ironic cackle Laughing at my stump Chained to this rusted shackle There used to be a song Sweet like sugar Bitter like sole cinnamon But harmonious Lovely Divine Mine Now I’m just walking by An idle stick A log A twig A wayward tree stump Just my lonely luck