Untitled

Birch tree lost its branch one day in violent winter
I said it was grieving, you said it don't feel nothing
I bet you think everything's in its rightful place
That sentiment is man's disgrace

Well the rooks in the trees they dont half bother me
Clawing at my mind with every given opportunity
It's spring outside, a perilous sky, and that terrible clattering sound
Fuck it, you said, you should go shoot them down

So hey, that's me
Shooting at a 100 year old rookery
Oh, look at me
The definition of futility
It's what you say anyway

So I'll go back to working through the gentle hours of the evening
Where the weather and the wine and the company treats me easily
Unknowing am I of the wound that took my eye
Unknowing am I of the wound
Unknowing am I of the wound that took my eye
Unknowing am I of the wound