Sycamore

The scent of autumn nights, when the leaves can't quite
Decide if they are red or green, or something in between

Birds and leaves are all the same, with only one change
Birds can make the choice to fly against the breeze with which the leaves remain

Could a rose by any other name sound as sweet when coupled with the blame?
Over fields the sun is trying hard to show that it's still shining
But I haven't felt it on my skin

I'm no good at documenting life without embellishment
Can't turn thoughts into a song if no one cares what it all meant

When did this become so hard?  Can't find footing for a start
I'll look anywhere to find that which seems to make me lose my mind

Minutes blur to hours blur to days.  Seasons pass, I'm left to watch the haze
Weekends that I don't remember, ties I never had to had to sever
Conscious, yes but more than that, I'm dazed

Pillars rise of smoke and ash, brazenly against the clash
All self-interest, no self-worth, could time away be any worse to me?

Does the sycamore by the pond still stand?  Does the sycamore by the pond still stand?
Underneath, the leaves have fallen; gone are both the sun and pollen
Flowers wilt and die to show the transformation: forward, slowly
I got up and fell back down again.  Stagnancy is more than just a friend

Can anybody hear me? Is anybody listening?
Can anybody hear me? Is anybody listening?
Can anybody hear me? Is anybody listening?
Can anybody hear me? Is anybody listening?
Can anybody hear me? Is anybody listening?

Does the sycamore by the pond still stand?
Does the sycamore by the pond still stand?