An old tree stands by the edge of a cliff,
awaiting, awaiting the waters to lift.
The waves he cherishes like God's gift,
but through weeds and mountains he must first sift.

Lonely, pleading like a beggar,
he looks to the sea and wishes to tell her
to raise her waters with a good will,
so he could stand alone in the Home of Thrill.

An old tree stands alone on a hill,
forsaken and abandoned, he slowly dies,
as he watches the world's ages fall into a ghyll,
he sets his heart to where the sea-nymph cries.

In mimicry of the sea-nymph's tears,
he sends his roots cascading down the hills
like a waterfall of knowledge collected through the years.
What a sight to see! The spirit with sadness it fills.

An old tree once stood by the edge of a cliff,
waiting for some water to rise.
Now he's fallen, eaten by flies,
as he lays on the rocks, yet nobody cries.

What a life to have lived,
sad and alone.
As he dies, he knows he won't be missed.
No one grieves him but them he'll forgive,
even if they throw him like broken bones.