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Greive
Its cold outside
You climb a tree
Its warm outside
You climb a tree
Its wet outside
You climb a tree
~
God throws stones at your life
You drive a car to get away
Put you just cant escape the pain
The rocks on your roof
The paint away they chafe
But one has gouged your arm
The sounds of shattered glass sends you running
Back …
Back to your tree seeking refuge
But alas!
The tree,
Like all thing,
Have withered and fallen
Hollowed limbs translate a deceasing soul
In the blood of your pen, exile is forged
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“You're beautiful, but you're empty...One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.” <br /> ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince