The tree is on a diet of itself
The autumn forces leafs onto the ground
And our old friend, with little choice
Survives the winter off the mulchy mound
But is it cold that drives the leafs to dive
Or are there details we've yet to devise?
A hunger ravenous
A self-engorging life of lies
And if we feed off our own flesh
Our cannibalism innate
What season do we blame
And hide behind to hibernate?
I've seen the winter cold arise
The appetite, the thirst
The craving that can catch the virtuous
Red-handed within vice or worse
Mankind will prey upon itself
On any given night or day
For power, gold or wealth or nay
Nutrition for the self
But for the soul dismay