We have to take back the trees.
Arouse the hyenas to distract the thunder so we can scratch our backs on the blades of grass.
Rub baby powder on the chest of slumber so they can dream pure. Denounce titles and all this other foolery you have adopted to be our family structure.
That silence is not mine! I am the threatening crashes of waves you belittled to sand. Because… because I believed them too. I bought the lemonade recipes and choreographed a dance to sour times. Framed my “S” shirt for company to count the stripes I’ve endured and marvel at brown brave. Outside of ourselves we have once again been led to puppetry. And I hate you too.
This is not us. There is no book. Only 81 of those songs are ours. Come unprepared with bread so we can dip away the excess. It is me. Re-member…
Listen to him no more. Let her voice be of distant space. We have to take back the trees, we have to take back the trees.