The Weeping Tree

Alone I walked the pitiless path
Of souls that search for eternal youth,
To a place with no name that was marked by a grave
And the inscription on the tomb was for me.
In the distance a hill rose up from the waste,
On the hill was a shadow, an outline of death,
It was the Weeping Tree and its tears were real,
But at that time they were not for me.
I went on past the Weeping Tree
And I met a man who had lost his face,
He smiled with his hands but his heart was sad,
And his life was a solemn ritual.
He knelt before the Weeping Tree,
Pleading for mercy and sanctuary,
But day after day the reply never changed,
And the tears fell in a silver stream.
I left his sorrow and stood on a mound,
Then looked to the sky in wondrous gaze,
The shadow of the Weeping Tree crept across my face
And I heard you call my name three times.
My mind was in turmoil, my reason had gone,
So I tried to remember where I had come from,
But you kept insisting that I could be free
By singing the song of the Weeping Tree.
Its' tears were now flowing in a torrent of pain
And its branches beckoned me into its arms,
I hurried back to the Weeping Tree
And this time its tears were for me.