I want to be a real boy, I don’t want to be a stump
My joints articulating better than my knotty lump
My heart a pumping sap filled core,
with arms outstretched to shelter more
I wait for the carver to create me anew
From my snazzy top hat to my hard wooden shoes.
Direct me, show me, guide life to this oak
Allow me a life, my leaves are all spoke.