Jittering,
chattering,
tittle-tattle-prattling,
non-stop gabbling,
news repeat.
Chattering,
chattering,
tittle-tattle-prattling,
non-stop gabbling,
news repeat.
Chattering,
chattering,
tittle-tattle-prattling,
non-stop gabbling,
news repeat.
Chattering,
chattering,
tittle-tattle-prattling,
non-stop gabbling,
news repeat.
In the world,
far from men,
trees are whispering.
In the wild, far from men, trees are whispering.
The quiet fields spread out,
withdrawn and tight-lipped,
are lost without anchor of variety strips.
Cut off, short-lived, controlled and bounded,
all drenched with foulness and so locked and bonded.
Sameness, a curse, helpless,
defenseless,
smothered with bitterness of mad spatchwankness.
Tittering,
chattering,
tittle-tattle-prattling,
non-stop gaveling,
news repeat.
Chattering,
chattering,
toss-a-ping,
lost at counting these leaves.
Chattering,
chattering,
toss-a-ping,
lost at counting these leaves.
In the wild,
far from men, trees are whispering.
In the wild, far from men, trees are whispering.
Life in the slow-laying trees live for a thousand years,
if left to grow alone with just their own cares.
In the wild,
far from men,
trees kiss,
touch and shiver.
They weave and tangle, whisper to each other.
Tittering,
chattering,
tittle-tattle-prattling,
non-stop gaveling,
news repeat.
Chattering,
chattering,
toss-a-ping,
lost at counting these leaves.
In the wild, far from men, trees are whispering.