#1
It's not like he'd spent his life that way,
always with advice from the wrong shoulder,
He'd just always prefered adverse weather,
and gravitated to a climate a bit colder.

It's not that he didn't have the chance,
He just wasn't a fan of advantages,
Nor did he worry himself with fairness,
It's just the kinda stance he has.

It's not that he didn't try that hard,
he just didn't feel better when he was done,
too many interests, and not enough passions,
Jack of all trades, mammoth of none.

It's not that he was so cumbersome,
It's just the way he was born,
To aspire to greatness and unable to do,
To want togetherness and to be so torn.

Wooly saved himself for this one time,
offered no more of himself to lend,
To repress so much of what makes yourself you,
so you can be who you are in the end.

Everyone seemed to go about their ways,
as he entered either his stagelight or tomb,
but it was certain when he began,
no one could ignore the mammoth in the room.

He'd come to find how ironic it is,
when you try so hard to fit your face,
To become the person who you think is you,
You forget who you were in the first place.

Wooly wasn't alone when he looked in the mirror,
and saw nothing but trees,
It seemed to much to take time for the forrest,
A society like this judges by what it sees.

It's so frustrating to have your forest this way,
so comprimised of life to vast,
And to try to pick one that defines you,
as a mammoth of none, it's a daunting task.

Wooly saved himself for this one time,
offered no more of himself to lend,
To repress so much of what makes yourself you,
so you can be who you are in the end.

They tell wooly life comes at you fast,
But he finds it the same every day,
which seems to help time slip past,
along with what was said yesterday.

Everyone seemed to go about their ways,
as he entered either his stagelight or tomb,
but it was certain when he began,
no one could ignore the mammoth in the room.