I climb the tree that bears the fruit,
The fruit that is my soul.
It is a tree with branches spread,
The kind that's hard to scale.
It's only once I reach it's peak,
That I have a path to come down.
My limbs are weak and my bones they ache,
But time has come and gone.
I sit upon the tree so high,
With the view I never doubted.
The things I saw in my little tree house,
Are all but now deluded.
