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The Last Bison

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The Last Bison

Woodcutter's Son

Out in the woods
Beyond the fields
In a cottage made from tin
Lives a man
And with his lathe
He would carve the faces

Of people he knew on the shore
Of people that he knew before
He surrendered himself to the trade
Fell in love with the ones he'd create

Twas the Woodcutter's Son

He fiddled away
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With the friends that he made
Then he'd place them on the shelf
One by one
Giving them names
Of distant places

Where he had experienced love
From ones had no memory of
From ones he had known long ago
Whose cradles and lamp stands he'd known

Twas the Woodcutter's Son