Our Forest December 97

A bit of dust in my eye

What have I done to care more

I don’t deserve your piece of pie

Only I — should adore

We’ve been down roads and up as well

Seen the moon shine in the afternoon

Now is the time for preparation of hell

We shall run to the forest like Daniel Boone

Ducking with swords at our sides

Lowering eyes to the shade of the sun

And we grip our hearts and souls still alive

We grip each other — as we run

Like a wolf, in a trap, we argue

As a butterfly and its patient tree

We touch each other so baby blue

This long period of past and present

Has led us to this point of excel

And this long world of building and pheasant

Is our cause of this phase we call hell

Our love I know is not of the world

Only a detail that enhances its plan

We must make our moons brighter and bold

For this hell, of a forest, is no longer for man