Tree Of Life
stand defiant in the valley of lost hope, shadowed by
the mountains of pain piled high, between the lake of life, and the
trembling walnut sky, but for the grace of god goes i, too young to
die, too old to cry. Of joy, the unborn thought, my mind can see it
slowly rot, in all it's glory it was never more sought, doomed though i
am, compliant i am not . The rains pour, but still i can hear the
ocean's roar, the waves of love want to know me no more, and so i stand
defiant still, wallowing in my absent will, without but a dream for my
poor head to fill.
Decades pass like shooting stars, the
vapors of time cascade on the roof of the world above my splitting
head, serving only to remind me that i'm not yet dead, let it never be
said, that for every door that closes another shall open, there are no
passages into nor out-of my world, this prison of chaos and fears
unfurled. Though in these spoiled hard and poisoned soils, my roots
they start to grow. For my leaves and branches' strength to show, It
takes only a loving thought to shine, and a merciful breeze to blow.
Even in the darkest hour, my tree can rise and learn to flower, and up
it shall go, rising above all that's ever stood in it's way, above
these rocks and rivers, and valleys that block the day. Forevermore my
heart will say, the price of love, is too costly to pay.
Now the lake and ocean's dried, the grass that lined the mountain's
died, the valley stands no longer, as the hills that it once held, have
crumbled past the stage of care, and thought in which they dwelled. The
colours of past, left an awful scar on this unholy mass, the footsteps
of forsaken souls, etched into the ground like glass. In amongst these
scenes of no-betweens, no mountains high and no ravines, no gorges wide
and no harsh tide, no aching sky, nor rocks that lie, but only a single
object, on which to focus your hungry eye, remains. A tree, it's
blossom emblazoned defiantly, with colours man has yet to see, with
branches strong it stands alone, and tall and proud, forever free.
the mountains of pain piled high, between the lake of life, and the
trembling walnut sky, but for the grace of god goes i, too young to
die, too old to cry. Of joy, the unborn thought, my mind can see it
slowly rot, in all it's glory it was never more sought, doomed though i
am, compliant i am not . The rains pour, but still i can hear the
ocean's roar, the waves of love want to know me no more, and so i stand
defiant still, wallowing in my absent will, without but a dream for my
poor head to fill.
Decades pass like shooting stars, the
vapors of time cascade on the roof of the world above my splitting
head, serving only to remind me that i'm not yet dead, let it never be
said, that for every door that closes another shall open, there are no
passages into nor out-of my world, this prison of chaos and fears
unfurled. Though in these spoiled hard and poisoned soils, my roots
they start to grow. For my leaves and branches' strength to show, It
takes only a loving thought to shine, and a merciful breeze to blow.
Even in the darkest hour, my tree can rise and learn to flower, and up
it shall go, rising above all that's ever stood in it's way, above
these rocks and rivers, and valleys that block the day. Forevermore my
heart will say, the price of love, is too costly to pay.
Now the lake and ocean's dried, the grass that lined the mountain's
died, the valley stands no longer, as the hills that it once held, have
crumbled past the stage of care, and thought in which they dwelled. The
colours of past, left an awful scar on this unholy mass, the footsteps
of forsaken souls, etched into the ground like glass. In amongst these
scenes of no-betweens, no mountains high and no ravines, no gorges wide
and no harsh tide, no aching sky, nor rocks that lie, but only a single
object, on which to focus your hungry eye, remains. A tree, it's
blossom emblazoned defiantly, with colours man has yet to see, with
branches strong it stands alone, and tall and proud, forever free.