I'm hiding myself so you cannot see
I've gone off somewhere that I'd much rather be
My lungs are staggering
My feet fly free
Down the street to the cemetery white pine trees
The biggest one's roots are cradling my back
And filling the holes of the things that I lack
Memories come flooding like tears from my eyes
As the guardians of existence drift through the sky
Nothing lines up quite the way that it should
But the curves of my back, and those of the wood
I don't really know
and I can't really see
As I sit beneath this great white pine tree