Nothing here to see folks

A lonely lake, a lonely shore,
A lone pine leaning on the moon;
All night the water-beating wings
Of a solitary loon.

With mournful wail from dusk to dawn
He gibbered at the taunting stars—
A hermit-soul gone raving mad,
And beating at his bars.

-Lew Sarett


I think the trees are dying
They're starving for some love
Your eyes change color like the trees
And slowly fade like echoes from above