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letra de the woods are burning - hermitofthewoods

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[verse]

there is a place along the water where the speed limit is raised
a gravel hill climbs up through trees that cascade
under cover of fall colour smothering waves
a wasted sp-ce living through the last of its days

this is the lazarus stage. process – unperfected
methodology – defective. n-body’s talking on the record
except for the lady with the maps, don’t forget her
note: attend lecture – vote to censure the director

mandaville asked about site sensitivity and surrounding areas
“will appropriate blasting techniques act discretely on its character?”
h-n-siak said yes – that cascading ponds would be retained
but the rest had been reclaimed for traffic lanes and sewer drains

nineteen eighty-two through nineteen eighty-nine
ages four through 11 dowell drive, i used to find
that i had sleepwalked to the tree-line all the way up the block
to take turns on -ss burners down the mighty sliding rock

among the trees there is a watchman now
protecting the holy grail of my entire existence
he picks at his lunch pail, dismissive of my mission, “wish i was fishin’!” shirt showing
uniform blowing open – “there’s nothing there, you can go in.”

the spider is dead. life force drained in rain and wind
pinned down to scream and drown when floods and mud came rushing in
once gnarled and knotted – a rotten pot of moccasin blossoms
the holocaust is coming and there’s nothing left to stop them

beyond the osprey’s nest text was sprayed in bl–dy tones
access restricted- this is a hard hat zone
godd-mnit andrews can’t you ever answer your f-cking phone?
“i’m not in right now, leave a message at the tone.”

ignoring caterpillar yellow heavy metal and demo sheds
i headed north toward the waterfall to crawl the forests edge
a chorus of red-breasted birds needled the silence – sound explodes
from the great stone fortress that hangs unnoticed high above the road

loss of control is hardest when it hits closest to home
the throne is cold. no one knows what will unfold
we all grow old holding on to file folders, settled into boulders and birch trees
reading what the archivist was able to release

underneath her yellowed history the mystery is miserably resolved
there was a phone call and clayton’s obligations to get involved evolved
into an envelope i opened slowly, uncertain
boom shovels dug into my stomach – the situation had worsened

spreading doc-ments on stumps and attaching maps to branches
i unpacked a lunch and flipped raw hunches into answers
the cancer’s not malignant, but indignant deformities are showing
a pox upon the earth where accursed steam shovels are rolling

how could they do this to me? allow my forest to exist
stripped of its elegance mixed with black asphalt and red brick
suddenly sick over the thought of streetlights shining on my secret pond
how much easier it would be to curse them if everything i loved was gone!

emblazoned upon pages were land percentage dedications
less a comprehensive violation than an insensitive invasion
“if we had time to get out and walk through this land
you’d discover just how truly beautiful it really is.”

what the f-ck do they know about beauty, with their pre-fabricated homes?
this plastic state established that’s inhabited with clones
this is the tragic death of magic – lost in light commercial zones
how could they even imagine what i created here on my own?

would i be offered an apology if i explained that my mythology
is the botany and biology being bulldozed by corporate policies?
could they even understand that i grew up on that land
and that their underhanded plan was doing damage?

i began to shake and i paced straight-faced among the orchids
reports had been recorded denying any knowledge of the importance
of the fortress, the mighty sliding rock, or the red planet
“our philosophy is to operate with integrity.” bullsh-t. i can’t stand it

i’d prepared myself for the loss of sacred sp-ce to condominiums
forsaking trees and lakes for landscapes of abyssinian sp-rs-ness
the darkness came in the form of scars carved
deep into ravines to make room for stores and cars

the worst part – it seems that that my acceptance was premature
i checked the maps and cross-referenced all of my sources to be sure
i wanted to sing for the annihilation of this place in mitch-ll songs
but the pictures that were drawn said that i’d been wrong all along

in a cruel twist their hit list was altered and rearranged
the pond, the sliding rock, and the fortress would be maintained
for a strained moment i tried to find some solace in their design
but the traumatic arrogance of the act –it cracked my slumping spine

i struggled to define the horrible offense they’d instigated
the hatred that permeated my face as i debated
betrayed the silent rage of a cold, steel crowbar
when this is over orange sh-r-s will have the soul of a backyard

a black scar will form over the path and people’s porches
will overlook the fortress like tourists with tiki torches
tied up dogs are going to sh-t where i used to sit beside the bog
frogs confined to property lines will feel obliged to leave their logs

i choose all or nothing none of this torture in between
i’d rather be seeing disaster scenes and be forcibly be made to flee
than to see the travesty that’s been so viciously inflicted
to witness it makes me wish none of this ever existed

their insistence on perverting my places by proximity
toxicity is k!lling me. willingly filling these trees with chimneys
while claiming to be sensitive to limnology and green sp-ces
that particular whip crack across the face has left me tasteless

my own subjectivity is the cause of all this misery
developers don’t know the history of these woods and what they did to me
there’s no maps of this land just like the back of my hand
but i’ll be d-mned if any man ever ran me through the damage plan

they don’t understand my role and the whole process is approved
they’re moving in by the water and phase ii is coming soon
doom. these places i love will be -ssumed as views from living rooms
and there is nothing i can do

- hermitofthewoods

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