Push me out on the last limb
But fail to mention that the wood is rotten
And let us see how long it holds me
Before we hear a snap and I fall back
Towards the ground and it's gravity.
I prefer the smell of the air down there anyway.
Swing sets are merciless tricks
The higher I get, the more sure I am
That I'll take vacancy of this seat and fly
But the longer I swing, the more I realize
The further I go means the farther back I'll fall
And I've grown content with this gravity.
Does it matter how high you jump?
As long as your feet leave the ground?
Does it matter how often you jump?
Or are you just wearing yourself out?