Fly: Fight: Crow

“My God where have I been?”
I've spent years in these trees
I've been a hundred different men in a hundred different days
In the beginning the trees were thin and the sun was so bright it shone in my eyes
My shoes held strong against the rocks and the thorns, but now my shoes are torn
And my feet have bled on this unforgiving ground
I've forgotten the feel of the sun, and my bones are weathered as the branches
I've lost my way and I'm losing my sight
And yet I refuse to turn around
These trees get thicker, the light gets thinner, and my resolve grows
It's not something I can describe, nor personify, nor symbolize
It is simply my state of existence between these trees
And these branches that once seemed so intimidating now streak together in blurs of green
And in my solitude I have come to realize
To die would be a great adventure