sometimes the wind picks up all the leaves
that fall from my bark and land on my knees
and all that ive thrown and all ive suppressed
gets blown back at me in my own little mess
and the rain didnt help for the rot in the muck
and now all that i see is the pain i had held
and for some Forsaken reason my
hands touch no sky
for the Grey is above and it taunts me and lies
and i thought my roots had found peace had Found truth
in the Depths of my earth
In the Silence And my youth
But it turns out compression of rock is disturbed
And now the Soil kicks
and now the ground Jumps
and The storm it yells victory in the ocean and Rust
And my body it cracks to show all of the space
where i thought homed tranquility but out birthed my rage
and All the times I’m Empty
and all the Times i smile
all false propaganda for a Stone Under trial
And That stone will go two ways
that Stone it will crack
or it’ll reach the Point and Move Mountains
itll start to Yearn Lack
And the Ball It keeps Rolling
And It Will not stop
And Now all That Time’s left With is
Carnage and Crop

and Soon I will harvest
the blood in my roots
and the quiet will Serve my hibernating
for the next unbridled pursuit