Harden up again, soft from a bend
that had us wrapping our whole heads around..
We could move in one direction
and, never losing ground, end back in town
So the ones with the speed live in trees and the ones that slow
live down below and plan convincing rhymes
for those who sway the times can't be allowed
to be the tongues for ones who chose to go
And should the new to live appraise in our ways
our brighter days, we cannot see
Their small choice of what to do's
a larger choice of what not to do, of who to be

(second verse same as the first)

Defended with a rope, and verbal joke
we seek to know all those who foray(invade-ish)
While our old, strung-out, heavy eyes
in the too-early-too-late morn' of our lives,
our ears look to quiet
as our mouths search the net
as noses see smoke
and hands'll stare at wet.
And at our most selfless the small be fed
by every bit that we kept when we are dead
But when the new to live are raised in our ways
their residence may see it lack
for the grass and mud and bones we choose
and rocks and woods as the supports we use
which we give back