I wonder if we were ever meant to be, hanging on that tree. Its lovely branches oh so high, they look like they will touch the sky.Our lives make, never take so long; always moving on and on. Why do we find things so old, that they are corrupt and therefore bold? We watch the towers fall lower and lower, wishing life could just be a little bit slower. Were we ever meant to be, hanging by that tree? Or were we meant to live, and forced to dig? Our graves so deeps our hearts so shallow, the slopes too steep, our spirits fowl. Why do we wait for a saint to pick us up so we may jump? Maybe he'll catch us, me he will not. It'll be such a fuss, just to end up in that tree's knot.
