ART + LIFE
The Growing Tree
The Growing Tree
This tree of mine,
Is half burnt and alive;
The dead and the living twine up to the top,
Like fire and ice they balance each other;
What lives must die, what dies must live;
Many have touched, and fate taken by my tree,
And with each passing hand it grows taller still;
There is no fertile land on which to grow,
There is nothing for my tree that grows;
It just is, as it always has been;
Such a beautiful tree, I wish you could see it--
You have and will, oh, I do forget;
My tree, my lovely living, dying tree;
Souls pass it every day,
And every soul either dies or lives when they touch;
This tree, it grows on the border of Life and Death
Creepy, but not as much as The Voice
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