I need to stop being such a sap
I have to leave that job to the trees
But with the high I get off your air
I can’t stop writing lame poetry

Another little chump loser stuck
With birds circling around his head
Under your richly green canopy
I‘m sure he would much rather be dead

A poet and hopeless romantic
What a “unique” horrible cliche
Recounting recounting syllables
Your sap keeps him trapped in such a daze

This sucker thinks he’s in love again
Must have fell straight from the very top
And made a home safe in your warm shade
Now the poetry just cannot stop