Messages move on the air and the breeze
and the tree-people speak through the wind and the leaves
But that's okay, they speak to me;
‘bout the use of my limbs and the things that I see
Picture frames of perfect children dancing
be the mindset; in a viceless world of stingers;
any movement's always timeless;
Rhymes just get me down these days ‘til I see the paths and then I tap my superpowers;
locked in a world of meekness leaves me sleepless
read my books for hours and speak to trees
and under the light of a star-struck moon
They speak to me;
‘bout falling leaves and being trapped in one place all the time;
but most of the time they speak about a pretty little girl whose feet don't touch the ground;
They speak about the ways that she plays and she moves and how she never breaks twigs when she jumps around;
She splits the light, and leaves in laughter, and she always smells so nice
She sees the world the way it sees her
through a calming, tinted light;
As night falls, her playful songs bring movement to the stillness;
Her liveliness uproots the trees so they can't fill the illness;
And in the day, they're back again
exactly where they were when she stopped singing
That's why there's no paths through the trees;
so save the forest, and lead to her please.
Lyrics by: Mike Zietsman (now in P.H.Fat)