Once i met a forester, he chopped down the tree of life
with every hack and every slice he drew another line on-
the chalk board, erased another life, trod into a strife
carved all with a knife, this was infact the beggining-
of life, with every fall there’s a rise. now look into
the skies, what do you see, a bleak, yet bright sun set
a corageous spirit, lift it bring it closer, its yours to hold-
adjust to the beggining because the forester allready carved your
ending.

but when the new tree blossoms and grows, the energy flows
the birds start singing, the new beggining the emptyness fades-
new life invades, a sparkle of thunder and a twist of wind erase
the sun set, and let the spring begin, release the children within
the woumb push out the spirit and find the prodigy within it.

the forester can allways come back to the birth tree but, as allways
how the fuck would i know what its like to be me?
im still growing im just a tree, until i blossom, will i ever be me
will i ever suceed in growing, ever changing ever thinking,
are we really living, or are we still in the woumb, floating around
in a water filled bubble, ready to break out and shatter the real
worlds surface, just belive in something, and youll never, ever
reduce to nothing.