The Wood

Now, I don't have to do
All the things they want me to do
I could soon as decipher myself
I used to stare at the sky
With the blinders under each eye
Till I tripped on a pile of wealth
In a wooden chair, in a mezzanine,
I sit and watch such a brutal scene
Of a boy destroying a girl
And you don't have to subscribe to
Such a pointless way of life
Blending in with everyone else
I'm not faking

It's the wood inside of the trees
It's not the color of the leaves
It's the wood inside of the trees
And that means a lot to me
And that means a lot to me

I've almost wondered, sometimes,
If hate, it comes from inside
Or a lesson we've taught to ourselves
And hopeless, countless ashamed
That are always ones to blame
Sometimes it's the one on the shelf
Do you think in twenty years
We could learn from all of us here?
I doubt it but I've still got my hopes
And I want to pocket my soul
In my pocket there's a hole
Chewed by what in life I fear most
I'm not faking

It's the wood inside of the trees
It's not the color of the leaves
It's the wood inside of the trees
And that means a lot to me
And that means a lot to me

And the days are growing stronger
And the nights, they never fade
And the streets are growing longer
As the blood's washed away by the
Rain
I'm not faking

It's the wood inside of the trees
It's not the color of the leaves
It's the wood inside of the trees
I'm not faking
It's the wood inside of the trees
It's not the color of the leaves
It's the wood inside of the trees
And that means a lot to me
And that means a lot to me