They have around me twisted trees
To capture false semblance of what once was.
But these hands I have, they stay with me,
So tell me: should they give applause,
If living trees did ink from their pen?
And so I call upon the voice of wind,
The hearth of sunlight’s beacon
And the agape sky that’ll wax my mind
To show the way to freedom.
Make me an ocean
Before I’m lost to the torrent,
And all’s well that ends with a whimper
In the wells of the people,
Even if they love me for my popular songs
For the sake of not growing so bitter.
To you, are my eyes worthy to see?
You brighten the misty air, so crisp,
But you seem a dream to me.
For you are so perfect
And I must wake up.
We both know that the world is wrecked,
And the sun’s radiance is now a sup.
So let us bask in the sunshine we give,
So the world seems saintly for a little while.
Our little buds do seem to wilt,
If only in the face of guilt.
But for all the time well spent,
Our buds still keep their scent.
I do not steal,
I do not lie.
I do not cheat,
Nor do I ****.
Yet somehow, I’ve done the worst thing of all.
I had done nothing worth hating,
Or anything worth stating.
The strife is fixed by all that’s grand,
But that just seems a wish!
It seems with all the world at hand,
You still can’t wash a dish.