The forest in a tin can
Is not much worth to the city man
All he prays for is booze and green paper
But when the draft runs dry
And thoughts of “why?”
Like grief, in the night, come knocking
He wishes for no more than death
He knows that’s all he’s sure to get
From above he looks on down
To the metal maze below
Soon, like deflated spiders
The towers will buckle at the slightest blow
Time makes sure of one thing
The hope in every man will sting
When the wrinkles fall off the face of truth
And disappear into seamless youth
For so does the earth return
To everything which was from it took