High above the clouds, thin air and all, she oversees the entire hill

The speeding clouds below age her – though the times stand still

The branches are thin, crooked, and rough like the rocky dirt

They’re filled with past memories, troubles, and thought full of hurt

Her screams of pain echo in the hollow cliffsides around her

The black and white scenery of bleak shadows has never been darker

Grounded in this loneliness, her roots are deep into the Earth

She ponders in her sorrows about futile hopes of a Rebirth

To live in a place unlike now; in thee great rich Pasteur

Is a concept that is shattered by her vile, iniquitous master

She is entangled in this unbounded mess, planted in the cold, evil soil

Surrounded by those like her, but still alone in all the toil

Only He can plant her in ground anew and remove her from the guilty sod

His great majesty has shown her the light. His name is God.