This wood is my sanctuary
When the world grinds me down, I come to this wood for solace
I come to hear the rustle of the breeze in the trees
I come to feel the calming, protective presence of the trees
I come to restore my balance so I can face the world again
The bastards hate the idea of sanctuary, calm and reflection
They hate it when it comes for gratis, no money required
They want us working, stressing, spending, spending...spending...
They hate us retreating from their sordid world into the woods
I come to this wood, to escape, think, reflect and wonder
The bastards don’t want us escaping, thinking or reflecting
As for wonder, the nature hating, soulless bastards despise it
All because it adds nothing to the bottom line they worship
You could almost pity them for their shallowness...almost...
But, I can’t pity the bastards who would destroy what I love
They can’t comprehend anything with a deeper meaning
They fear and loathe the secrets of life the wood could tell them
This wood is a web of life, richer than they can ever understand
This wood has a spirit and a presence they can never understand
When the stress of modern life crushes my spirit and soul
This wood is my sanctuary, my salvation, my muse and inspiration