[Verse 1] [This song is about the beauty that becomes visible when youth’s appearance no longer does the hiding. Aging doesn’t make people or trees less beautiful; it reveals the evidence of a life—every wrinkle, twist, scar, and bend shaped by time, weather, struggle, love, and experience. Stripped of foliage, pomp, and pretense, each becomes something entirely unique, and there is far more beneath the surface than first meets the eye.] (jazzy, bluesy, horns a blowing opening) Old trees in winter, Standing naked in the cold, No leaves left to hide behind, No need to look young or bold. They stand taller, They stand prouder, They stand louder against the sky, Some with dignity and power, Some with authority in their eyes. Some stand guard like soldiers, Ready for a fight, Some reach out in an embrace— A friend’s, a lover’s, Or the last embrace of night. Some are withered to the bone, So old they need a cane, A little tree-aid for the branches That have weathered with every storm. Some twist like ancient dinosaurs, Some curl like wilted flowers, Some bend and weave, and bob and bow Like warrior pretzel towers. [Chorus] Old people, old trees, Each without their foliage, Disrobed of pomp and circumstance, Stripped of old needs to fool us. Youth wears leaves and hides the wood, Time strips it bare and shows what’s hid. Wrinkles of time, Wrinkles in time— Every one unique. [Verse 2] (Loud horns) Look into an old face, There’s a map shining on the skin, Every line has been somewhere, Every scar a quiet war They’ve watched the world turn over, Seen a thousand endings start, Loved, lost and loved again, Carried pieces in their hearts. They’re national treasures walking, Liv’ing archives in the flesh, Libraries without a building, Stories no machine can fetch. No costume left to wear now, No pretending to be more— Just the person time revealed When it stripped away the mask. [Chorus] (Bouncy horns) Old people, old trees, Each without their foliage, Stripped of all the pomp and circumstance, Stripped of the need to fool us. Youth wears leaves and hides the wood, Age lets everything be seen. Wrinkles of time, Wrinkles in time— Every one unique. [Bridge] Look at that tree— Who taught it how to bend? No architect could draw it, No sculptor could pretend. It twists and weaves, and bobs and bows To a rhythm all its own, A one-of-a-kind snowflake With a thousand winters grown. Now look at that old woman, Look at that old man— No stereotype can hold them, No photograph ever can. Each shaped by wind and weather, Each altered by the years, Each stranger than our labels, Each more beautiful up close. [Final Chorus] Old people, old trees, Standing taller without their leaves, Prouder, louder, powerful— More than eyes perceive. No need for green to prove they’re alive, No need for youth to shine. The branches tell the story now, The wrinkles tell the time. Old people, old trees, Each a beauty beyond the norm, Each bent by wind, by weather, Each shaped by its own storm. Some stand guard, Some reach and hold, Some bow beneath the years— But every twist and every line Has earned its place right here. [Outro] So when the leaves have fallen, Don’t mistake the tree for less. When youth has left the face, Don’t mistake the age for emptiness. Look closer. There’s a whole life underneath. Old people. Old trees. Each without their foliage. Youth leaves— but somehow, there’s so much more to reveal. Stay curious.
