Whittling

Souls standing in line As the world pulls out its knife To whittle them down Carve up their lives Does it have an idea An insatiable need As it keeps whittling On them endlessly You do have to wonder What it truly sees As it carves on you And whittles on me Like an old mountain man By a cool mountain stream With Father Time standing by The world keeps on whittling And it'll certainly not tolerate Any back talk from you Just sit still and be quite Like a good piece of wood As the world whistles It whittles away Impressed with itself At the carvings it's made But if it whittles to much And doesn't care for the you that it's made The world tosses you out And lets the dogs play