The plan was to leave home
And roam the world beyond my window
To grow up quick, to find love
And to never settle down.
But look at me now
Gathering mold on a stranger’s shelf A fancy puppet
With a big fake smile
And a key sticking out my back.
Here I am now
Growing old before an idiot box
My boughs stunted
My buds nipped
My roots chopped off from my ground.
The plan was to fly away
To see the world beyond Blake’s grain of sand
But the bullet hit me right in the chest
And now I lay in my grave