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?".