The Woods

In the late hour of the August night, I go to the woods
I run deep down into the caves I usually try to avoid
I think about my life and everything I've done that was wrong
I hit myself with my own hand until bleeding comes

I trip on roots, fall into trees with branches cutting my face
I pound my head into rocks until I'm dizzy, and I say:
I told you many times not to get ideas about yourself
I told you many times not to be yourself
I sing:

Oh, my love! Oh, my love never understood
Oh, my love! Oh, my love thinks I'm in the sofa
but I am in the woods

The smallest bird flies to my shoulder, sings the tiniest song
I gaze right at the bird. You're wrong, I say and shoot her down
I think about my ways and why I limp where others run
I think about my caves and how I can't show them to anyone

I find a well, and down I whisper all my hopes and dreams.
I dig a hole, and down I whisper all my deepest fears.
I cover up with mud, secure the mud with heavy stones
I see a pine nourish from it, see it grow sad cones

Oh, my love! Oh, my love never understood
Oh, my love! Oh, my love thinks I'm in the kitchen
I scream back from the woods