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The tree of hearts has grown on us,
Or we on it? I cannot say.
-No more of this, it's heresy.
And growing dark; I'll come at day.

But there's a childish part of me,
That keeps me here, though I know well,
The night has come; it's time to go,
For mother wouldn't let me dwell.

I've heard stories of this tree.
Mother says they all are true.
Mother lies, I know this all;
All know this. I'm sure they do.

The tree is life. It's death in bloom.
It is the bond inside us all.
It lives, we live - but there's a catch,
It lives, one dies, or we will fall.

We let one go so we might live.
We kill one in ceremony.
Then bring up yet another child,
Hoping one day we will be free.

I hope we will; I cannot stand,
Another dream of beating hearts,
Beneath the barks of clustered trees.
And branching limbs in forested parts.

The tree is us; it is our life.
Inside it, dead one's hearts do beat.
But we aren't it, and it shall know,
The day it faces its defeat.

I know the elders won't agree,
But maybe if we find that vein,
It dies, we die, and all will end.
When pulsing stops, so will the pain.

And I know well that tomorrow,
The tree will want the life of me.
They kept me from all that they knew;
They knew it wipes out blasphemy.

But I will think and I will hate
The tree, for my right to a mind.
We need a sacrifice for life?
Look how sick life's made our kind.

Written by WaveDivisionMultiplexer
Content is available under CC BY-SA