They always used to say..
And still do too this day..
"Don't make a mountain out of a mole hill"
But what am i supposed to do when i feel so empty..
No hole to fill..
Nobody to kill.
What are you supposed to do..
When its neither a mountain..
Nor a mole hole..
But more like a tree in a way..
That's underneath..
In the center..
Of where your house used to lay..
The roots have been there for years..
But no one said a thing..
Not even when you shed a tear..
Theres a tree growing in the centre of my home..
At the center of my heart..
Its been there for agers..
But it still hurts too even think..
About turning the pages..
Again they still mutter..
Don't make a mountain..
Out of an ity bity mole hole..
Maybe if they knew there was a tree there..
They'd help me..
Talk to me about it..
My life to spare..
