Timber florist

Stealing wood from the government forest,

Feeling like a timber florist.

In the middle of nowhere with no one to see

I won’t be caught when I work like a bee.

Hey Mr. Oak, meet Mr. Chainsaw.

He’s a nice guy with only one flaw.

He’ll cut you up into pieces by the foot

Later: meet Mr. Oven, turn into soot.

Stealing wood from government land,

So I won’t freeze my toe or hand

When I sit one the sofa in March,

Under my roof, an oaken arch.

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