I look into the sky, lonely,
How to repair my damaged self-esteem,
Are the thoughts that swim in my mind,
Should I just not care?,
But it doesn't seem like something I,
can do, I'd rather dare the fear,
as big as the "àràbà" tree,
In my heart, planted by my hands
for as long as I don't remember.
So I hold my chainsaw in hand,
and look up In anticipation,
at the tree, my heart thumping in anxiety,
as I walk towards it, to destroy my creation...
Note: Àràbà is one of the big trees over here