A song - He picks the last leaves from her branches

The branches are bare this time of year;
Naked to the winter’s paw
Trees soon to be clothed again
In numbing drifts of snow

But one tree in the depths of others
Has its leaves still to fall
It’s me there wrapped in greenery
And drinking in the sun.

The leaves are falling
The wind is calling
The leaves are falling
The wind is calling me.

But you have come to pick me apart
Leaf by leaf by leaf.
You cut them from me one by one
Samson betrayed in sleep.

Till there’s nothing left but a silhouette
In the shadows of a fading sunset
Body stripped down
By the storm of your hands
To black and dark and brown.

I know for a fact that you keep them
In a box to this day.
They curl tight into themselves,
Fingered by decay.

Creep skeletons over their skin
Longing for motherland trees
Their veins lie empty and open
Sighing for the sign of a breeze.

The leaves are falling
The wind is calling
The leaves are falling
The wind is calling me.

And now I’m just a silhouette
In the shadows of a fading sunset
Body stripped down
By the storm of your hands
To black and dark and brown.