As witches chant and cigarettes burn
I wait, patient, for my turn
I do not want what I have got,
But I sure do have a lot
Witches chant and have their fun
As I bake below the pressing sun

Pebbles and dirt,
Worms and sprouts
I open my mouth
And nothing comes out

While witches pant I've come to learn
That I will die before my turn
Nothing's promised except for stones,
Twisted sticks, and dusted bones
Now witches rest, while I ignite
The wasted pages of my life

Cinders and earth,
Ashes and teeth
It sometimes is better
To simply not speak

Witches gather their things to leave
And now I'm sure I'll become these leaves
What gets said between oak and fern?
If woods could talk would I ever learn?
The witches have gone, tho I have not
What's left of me now, just flesh to rot

So hard to stand
So soft, this seat
I can feel the forest upon me

Eat!