I like to think I'll find peace for me
resting beneath a sycamore tree.
I can't feel its roots burrow into my body,
sapping me of my strength.
No
    No
No
    No
No
Can't you see?
There is peace beneath this sycamore tree.
Look at how it shelters me
in the shade, so I can't see the sun.
No
    No
No
    No
No
What on earth are you telling me now?
This is just a simple sycamore tree
it is not acting sycophantically.
I'm not held down, it's protecting me.
No
    No
No
    No
No
It wants your death to fertilize its growth.
You're rooted to the sycophantic tree.
Just go, there is nothing here for you.
I'm corrupted, leave without me.

I'd rather be
less opportune
than being
your sycophant
Because
its not  you
Who is the author
of my story.
I'd rather
walk alone
than being a part
of this blind haste
Because
its not  them
Who is the arbiter
of my struggling journey.
I'd rather fly far
than flying high
Because now
its me
who is the ruler
of my destiny.