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Poesie Noire

Timber

As I walked through the forest, the forest made of people.
Someone was chopping it down and the trees fell without a cry.

His axe broke the silence, and the birds left their nests,
and somewhere I heard a bell. The time had come to confess.

The leaves covered the earth... the forest was desolarted.
As they walked through the forest... that had nothing more to say.

Timber! Here we go again.
Timber! It's a very cruel game.