In The Forest

It's strange how I talk of everything when I'm never really there. I used to lose myself in the forest but it's never there anymore. All that kept me together were the wind, the trees swaying above me and the cars streaming by. I could lay out on the grass or whack two sticks of wood off a tree. Make a tribal primal call in my own mind. But nobody would listen. Nobody ever does.

It's all strewn with beer cans, beer bottles, vodka and Red Bull. You never see it clean in this place. Across the way you might find a torched car if you're lucky. The scorched land ruined by lunacy. But I don't mind. I'd just like to see who had the insurance. If I could I would always return but they seem to be cutting down what I fell in love with.

I used to lose myself in the forest but it's never there anymore. It's all strewn with beer cans, beer bottles, vodka and Red Bull. You never see it clean in this place. What use is dreaming when there's nowhere left to dream? What's the point in the end when we've forgotten the beginning?