| Looking Laying beneath the tree branches, I listen to the words the leaves sing . . . Gone . . . away . . . gone. Soft grass beneath my neck, I can feel the weeds thinking . . . Gone . . . away . . . gone. Eventually I stand up, brush off some dirt, and sway . . . Gone . . . away . . . gone. Can he hear me from here? Will the forest only soften my cries . . . Gone . . . away . . . gone. Hard dirt crunches below my pounding feet while I still look . . . Gone . . . away . . . gone . . . missing. Finding . . . a trace . . . finding . . . you. |
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