The Spring breeze whistles.
Bark gleaming in morning dew,
Green leaves dripping crystals,
His majesty reigns supreme over all,
But he will fall,
he will fall.

The Summer wind blows.
High he stands, branches brushing the heavens,
Emerald leaves tickling birds.
His majesty reigns supreme over all,
But he will fall,
he will fall.

The Autumn gust sighs.
The King is draped in ruby red,
Golden yellow and fiery orange.
The people gape in awe at the monarch’s new attire.
His majesty reigns supreme over all,
But he will fall,
he will fall.

The Winter gale moans.
His branches creak, his trunk grumbles.
His roots snap as they grope for a hold.
His majesty once reigned supreme over all,
But he has fallen,
he has fallen.