Forest of our fathers
Felled by jealous giants
Slayers of the sylvan
Player’s moral pliance

Bark now bent and splintered
Wooded cries are chorused:
Thick the thrill of thralldom
Cutthroats kill the forest

Kissing on the corner,
Full in way of walkers;
That’s the love of lovers,
That’s what tanks the talkers

Maybe they’re just jealous
For the mark they’re missing,
Harried by the haters,
Carried off by kissing

Lying and eliding
Buying time and biding
Sentences of sadness
Choosing chores and chiding

Frowning into furrows
Truant in our trying
Melodies of madness
Lullabies of lying