The tree
There's a small tree at the top of that hill
Which has seen so much, and keeps frozen still.
There's a small tree at the top of that hill,
That seems to laugh at the bad weather,
The same way it laughs at my face
when I work like a dog,
and strive to pay the bills.
And from so far away, from so high,
sure she'll never find me
she keeps screaming at my despair
"I know you're there!"
"I know you're not going anywhere!".
And I curse the tree
that lies above the hill
And I curse the fact that I'll never had a chance
to beat this tree in it's face:
"Come on, motherfucker, why can't I be just like you?".