Forest and Groves

Where does ambition go, 

without something to oppose? 

Forest or groves, forest or groves, 

where does ambition go? 

Where do they go, those weepers' tears? 

Off the cheeks away from here 

where do they go, those human fears? 

Through the eyes and soul, my dear. 

Where has it gone, the wily words 

licked away by silver tongue? 

Where has it gone, the worried truth 

wicked and wrong and wholly true?

They are lost inside forests and groves.

The doe walk along their parts- 

graceful through the torrent hearts,

pulling them with ardent carts, 

to the spriggans' greed.

A greed that hoards emotive emeralds 

jewels like lies and truth and fear, 

and hides them deep in labyrinth lair 

and reduces folk to empty cares.

Where does ambition go? 

Forest or groves, forest or groves, 

where does a feeling go? 

Forest or groves, forest or groves?