Hatchet Man

If you were the forest
And I were the hatchet man
With an air of arrogance
And my black axe in hand
Would I know the feeling
Of wood on cold steel and
Would it feel like victory
Or would I have no memory

You're down the hall
Talking on the phone
Maybe wishing you were home
Maybe wishing I was too
The trees don't even care
About the houses built there
Maybe they wish it all were gone
Maybe it will be soon

Somewhere in the wood
There's a tall, tall oak tree
With a long, long memory
And not an ounce of sympathy
Because our little engine could
Our little brains willed it to
Because we do what we want to do
Always do what we want to do

Have you had enough of me
Taking in the scenery
Wondering what I want to be
Maybe you've had enough of you
The trees don't even care
About the houses built there
Maybe they take great offense
At the cement of their roots

You're quiet now
You remind me of an oak tree
With a long, long memory
Of a short, short history
I'm shy and how
I feel is a mystery
Because I just can't seem to see
Anything but this little tree

Were I the last tree to stand
And you, with your axe in hand
Would you cut me down sand
Would you just let me be
Would you even care
As I fell would you stare
Would you cover your face
Would you have no memory
Because we have no memory