There is a wood with no beginning.
Glad am I, to see it spread
above me now, canopy thinning.
I wish that I may find the end.
I could rise like birds from ashes,
or carried by twisting winds.
I would melt into the ether,
finally living out my end.
If desire and desperation
could reality impart,
I would ride sunrays like rivers,
freedom lightening soul and heart.