Under a Fig

It’s twisted scripture, a prophecy gone wrong.

I know you’re somewhere out there, singing our songs.

Above a whisper, I hear your voice,

And you’d still be around, if I had a choice.

So I hope it’s not too long, before I see your face,

Amongst the stars, in outer space.

All I’ve ever wanted, was to be next to you,

Sit quietly and read, under a fig wood tree.

Which is why I made plans,

To run away, but as long as you’re gone,

I’ll continue to wait, under the branches,

Of this small, but mighty fig wood tree.