Looking around this jungle
lost in suburbia.
My best friend and I found the
willow's whips.

Continuing past, we see
the fortress of oak.
Guarded by small dragons with
poisoned fangs.

Ignoring this for fear of
our souls consumption
by the gluttonous wood's wolves
we head east.

The corner of rich and poor
rests an innocent stream
idly whispering its tale
if you'll listen.

Time filled with infinite laughs
the sun sets back home.
We mount our iron horses,
we were young.