The Wood-pecker Doesn't Fly Far From the Tree

I sit and listen, you're mocking me,
high above in that old, birch tree.
thinking that you're safe because I don't have wings to get up there.
All you do is bore away at that tree in hopes that you'll find food.
so I guess in reality, I pity you.
Cause just like you're banking on the hope that I can't reach you and harm you.
You're also hoping that you'll find a place to stay and something to eat and that efforts in this day were not in vain.
And that you've found a place to call home. You've found home, so in the other hand, I am jealous and the scales have been tipped in your favor.
The allusion of home is merely an illusion in my mind.
Like Jenny, I pray that I could be like a bird and fly far, far away from here. It is not that here is bad but, I want to leave before it gets harder.
Pulled this direction then the other.
High in the birch you don't have to worry about the lack of direction, you were made to follow the wind.
You have it easy.
I was made to follow God...

...So I guess I don't need to worry about directions.