Why do I continue to nourish the beast?
Does my naive mind secretly worship deceit?
From a pedestal a throne has festered from yeast
Feasting on corpses not even yet deceased
The past has proven me to be fruitless
I waited too long to let my roots grow in
Circling again to the beginning of the process
What I've borne has been my growing burden
I find myself noting the recurrence of the season
Nothing feels the same each time I do
Lost as a pilgrim searching for the midnight sun
Cut me down and let my rings be misconstrued
Though I'm made up of all my broken branches
I hope there is enough to shade those below
So I may continue to block the sun's blisters
Try to remember my value during the coming snow
We have to learn to not see blight as a plight
Everything ends as rot on the forest floor
Not everything is favored by the light
The past is over and the future is our gracious whore
