Where thoughts will take you

Listening to the dead silence
Nothing stirring but a light wind
I hear the neighbor's windmill
Making it's screcking sound from rusty limbs
Needing oil...like a walking tin man
Like the clone of the one that followed Dorothy

Huricane winds take the place of the soft crying wind
The tree's arms begin to sway
Until they break with a snap
That tree won't bleed
But will stand in pain until it heals
If it will ever heal

The powerful spark of Zeus cut straight through
Seperating the tree's heart in two
The black wound severed by intense sharp fire
Was anyone around to see?

This poor tree damaged and dying
It's moaning as the wind rips through it's once strong form
Beating its weak body to the ground it was rooted
Is anyone around?
Or are they under the sheltered roof of their home?
Oblivious.

It's damaged bark will become its own tombstone
Unless it's used for the paper we write on
We know that but do we ever really think about it?
That same poor tree is what you're writing on
You are adding scars to his corpsed body
More than Zeus's strike

It all started with a tree
Which came from a seed a little bigger than ants
Their bodies dragging through the ground that we stand
Stand,
Stand,
Stand,
Chanting through the wind

But I am back listening to the dead silence
Nothing stirring but a light wind