Its Monday

Wheel in a tree


Oh to be a cog in the machine
Just a worker bee
Dotting my I's
Crossing my T's
No responsibilities
No decisions
Just my place in the machine
Build me up a rut
So deep
It would swallow me
And furnish that motherfucker
Cool calm comfort
Nothing out of place
Oh to be
Just a limb on a tree
Or better yet a ring
In its trunk for me
Years and years
Never bothering
Either a cog in the machine
With a furnished rut
Or a ring in a tree
Maybe then I'll be safe
And you will never find me
Won't get your fingers
In my cracks
Won't tear your way into me
Then again you could
Break your way into the machine
Light a fire under my tree
Guess you'll have me then
No escape
That's the problem with ruts and rings
They make it hard to flee
I still have scars
And wicked dreams
From the last time you caught me...


Chris McQueeney