Desperation is hurling yourself at the Devil praying to find Heaven
Real triumph comes from careful dictation of every move
Not oblivious, but obsessed
Obsessed with bettering yourself, cutting off your bad branches

When I wake up, I see no bad branch
All the branches look just the same
But sometimes, I notice that they look droopy
Out of place, different to other trees

You see, sometimes if you convince yourself you're so much better
That once healthy obsession, turns into bitter desperation
Kiss your elderly oak goodbye, as the Devil takes it away
But I won't notice it happening, can you wake me up when its time?