At the end of this tree
I sit on a branch
So weak and broken
With life,
Unattached
This branch is so faded
It withers and curls
This branch is so faded
And so is my world
No reason for life,
But to be sat on,
By more
My reason to life?
A mat(t) of a door
So,
I guess we do not so much,
Differ
One reason or more
We decide to be sat on
Or stuck on the floor
Our reasons to life
Are none but the same
We are used as tools
And have not one
To blame