Underneath the Sycamore Tree
Lying there is a piece of me
Never to be regained
Through lies, truth, numbness or pain
I only wanted to have a fulfilled life
One without despair, loneliness and strife
But it seems that even that cannot be granted
My piece of soul still stuck where that tree was planted

And there he is buried under the soil
And yet I cannot visit him, I have no way to remain loyal
To his unbroken, untarnished memory
I would return if I could but I no longer have the energy
Or the luxury
To even attempt to make such a recovery
I don't think I could find that tree
Where underneath it lay a piece of me

His eyes were blue like the sky
The sky that we talked about with no reason why
His sandy hair with blue streaks
Streaks of blue as blue as the sky keeps
His stutter stabbing almost every word he said
His lack of eye contact no longer matters...
He is dead.

I never seized the chance to tell that boy
That my heart would jump with joy
And that it would whisper to my waiting ear
That maybe, just maybe, there might be a little hope here
That normality was at the end of the road
So long as I had him beside me to tell me where I needed to go
But, alas, that all vanished the day
That some cruel nature stole him away

But the sky waits for no one.
And the clouds change for no one.
He's out there somewhere where I cannot get to him
But the chances of me finding him are rather slim
They say time heals
But that's not what I feel
I feel almost empty, like an unfinished hole, or a water-based chasm
As though I believe that he'll return in the flesh, in spirit or even as phantasm

So where do I go from here?
Because I don't feel any better or feel any freer
All of the blood and all of the pain
Am I destined to witness that again?
Destiny: who really believes in that?
He did.
That boy who was just like me.
That boy who died underneath that tree.
That boy who still has a piece of me.
A piece of me underneath the Sycamore Tree.