Sleep beneath the flowers to awaken beneath them
Fragrance of evening, waiting for my dews to sip on
When the morning comes, brain stems weeds in this thieves' den
Sticking roots out for my brazen muse to trip on
My lake in the woods, for the maiden to fuse and sink in
Laden with confusion and reverence, truth and legends
Beasts that move with indifference rendering meats for their ends
Forest for the trees, trees for the stems
Whole mind running wild
Souls rind becoming vile
Barren fruit, poisoning the wells of those who dare
Ointments to make ill, best to just to go clear
Be the wretched death of any wide eyed knight
Sharp stalagmites for when they find their bright white light
Type write clammering like fangs from the shadow
Seap their teeth deep, trying to reign in this tableau
The old hermit mutters groans
As this old clutter grows, managerie of sombre poems crawl from the loam
Some he'd harvest for his own,
Chew on thoughts of the unknown draw a rift to form
Within darkness swarming this forest elusively
Find the hidden hand, drawing these hubris schemes so lucidly
A cell within cells
Fighting to survive for the sake of it forsaken prisons we've filled

Picking flowers from the grove
The pretty ones, the pretty ones, the pretty ones, pretty ones
Drifting hours as it grows
The prickly thorns, slither up my bones till I'm bled and gone
And I'm right here, skipping stones
And I'm right here, this dwindling pond
And I'm right here, till these depths are gone
Deep inside here

Lifes too short for the far-fetched and tall tales
Just trying to find the corpus before it falls still
Chalk up something other than a corpse sprawled on the hill I died
Qwell the storms I behold in my soul and heal inside
I know this small world larger than I see
But I'm still here bartering with fiends
Sowing seeds of doubt till I'm coffined in these trees
Trying to settle on the martyrdom I seek

Picking flowers from the grove
The pretty ones, the pretty ones, the pretty ones, pretty ones
Drifting hours as it grows
The prickly thorns, slither up my bones till I'm bled and gone
And I'm right here, skipping stones
And I'm right here, this dwindling pond
And I'm right here, till these depths are gone
Deep inside here