"LEAVES"

"LEAVES"

The leaves starting to turn outside your window
So you slide open the glass to let them in
They start to whisper warm about the ones who came before
And you regale them all with songs about the wind

And it blows their minds
Up from every root and, through the tangle, every vine
explain the process of how we use their fruit for wine
and how "turning over new leaves" is "insight"

They tell you some new secrets that you never heard
It seems their list of stories never ends
Something about our nature; ever-changing, rearranging
About the ties between our love, and lust, and sin

They're ok by me
they show me things about us that I could not see
that our mind's are growing seeds, but they're buried deep
sprouting leaves

So simple that it becomes complicated
A poem in a story about a song
It's less about the words and more about the feeling
More about what's right than what is wrong

But you can't seem to shake the feeling that they're warning you
to be wary of the feeling in your gut
'cause no one's gonna tell you when your output has no value
you've got to see the writing for your self
so cut away those vines
lay bare the blank walls that you'd buried deep inside
you know the writing's there, if you're the last to realize
that it was in sight

and you know they're right
you must be sick of feeling discontented all the time
like you're blaming other people for the failures in your life
but you don't know why

it's so simple but it becomes complicated
a poem in a story about a song
it's less about the leaves and more about the seasons
more about your life than what you want