Max Fomitchev-Zamilov | Poetry and Prose

Максим Фомичёв-Замилов | Поэзия и проза

Verse 1
Birds, birds, birds, birds, flitting through the sky,
leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves, trembling as they fly.
Winds, winds, winds, winds, cold and sharp and stark,
pins, pins, pins, pins, nailing me to dark.

Verse 2
Birds, birds, birds, birds, laughing as they flee,
leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves, ripping loose from me.
Roots, roots, roots, roots, knotting me within,
fruits, fruits, fruits, fruits, heavy with my sin.

Chorus
I’m tired of being a tree,
tired of being unfree.
Tired of standing so tall—
I want to be nothing at all.

Verse 3
Birds, birds, birds, birds, carrying the spring,
words, words, words, words, dying in the ring.
Leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves, bleeding brown and red,
thieves, thieves, thieves, thieves, wishing I were dead.

Verse 4
Birds, birds, birds, birds, gone before the frost,
leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves, scattered, torn, and lost.
Blades, blades, blades, blades, biting at my bark,
spades, spades, spades, spades, digging in the dark.

Chorus
I’m tired of being a tree,
tired of being unfree.
Tired of standing so tall—
I want to be nothing at all.

Outro
I am the husk, I am the root,
I am the tree.
Come raise your axe, swing once, swing true—
and set me free.

Leave a Reply

Discover more from Max Fomitchev-Zamilov | Poetry and Prose

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading