The Paper Trench

All of the high rolling and the soft focus

Helps with the stock pilling of your wooden self

Only in high rolling and in soft focus

Do we really ask 'is there not more than this?'

It's a trench and the cult and the culture it breeds

Only serves to feed one side and crush the rest

Those that siphon the green from the air that we breathe

To line fat pockets with the residue

And we suffer in silent moth balled fury

Trees that have long since shed their rings

As if to rub out the ball point memory of a thousand sins

Holy Moses and holy cow.

My varicose roots are coming out

And my sinew fingers throw them away

A ring per sin. A ring per sin