Made for This … by August Hunicke

I’m an arborist, I was made for this
On the day I was born, it was hard to miss
I rappelled out, the doctors record
With a friction-hitch on my umbilical cord

I could run before the age of one
And I was already collecting scars
Cause the fridge ain’t that high if you’re willing to die
Climbing for cookie-jars

Mama’s hair turned gray in a matter of days
Chasin’ my diaper bottom
But it turned white overnight, when I climbed outa sight
One windy day in autumn

You see I caught a reflection will stealing confections
From the highest shelf in the cupboard
A mirrored sway in the candy tray
Of something I’d not yet discovered

In a chocolatey haze I slowly lifted my gaze
To the window I turned my attention
It was a magical scene, so tall and so green
And it’s limbs seemed to beckon ascension

Risking another suture I lept for my future
And caught the line of the window blind
I rode it down as the blinds bunched up like a curtain rising on fate
And hit the ground, dodged a sippy-cup, and headed for the child gate

It wasn’t long after then that mom came in
And saw the scene in horror
Of a chocolate tin
And a me shaped hole in the screen door

Yep, that was the sight that turned her hair white
Because she knew what I had found
Sorry mommy, but my first word was tree
And when I found it, I never came down

Because I’m an arborist, I was made for this
Watch the sawdust fly with a flick of my wrist
And I’m not alone, not the only one known
To love the sound of hinge-wood moan

Search the earth and you’ll find from birth, others just like me
An uncommon breed with a burning need to rock the canopy
You’ll know him when you see him, though you might not want to be him

He’s the fearsome spectacle, with the extra testicle
He’s like no other thing, indeed he’s the king
You won’t find him by looking down
But look up, cha-ching, that’s him swinging in the crown

He’s a primate with a climbing fever
With teeth of Stihl, a trees just a meal
You might call him a monkey-beaver
Yep, to say the least we’re the king of beasts

From south to north and west to east
My claws are gaffes but don’t you laugh
I’ve had squirrels ask for my autograph

I hesitate to insinuate that we never rest on our laurels
I won’t quarrel, we could improve our morals
And there is a common theme with my team

The ones who’ll climb and cling, to high rockin’ spars
Are often seen, the night before, out hoppin’ bars
Whether up a tree or downin’ whiskey, we’re prone to get high one way or another
It’s not unlike the little tyke in a shirtless sugar-rush, stealing cookies from his mother

And don’t hate if I exaggerate, my kind’s known to brag
But you’ll find it hard looking down on us, when we’re climbing up your snag
So pardon my flaws, but I’m known more for saws than civics
Don’t care much for rules, except the laws of physics

And a face unshaven aint outa place in the places I’m braven’
So if the man driving wedges is rough ‘round the edges, its ok, we don’t need to be Quakers

Having said all that, I’ll agree sober’s where it’s at, when dodging widow-makers
And speaking for me, I’m now free of the bottle and have conviction
That my brothers in the trees, if need be, can also be free of addiction

We live and we sweat under constant threat of gravity induced demise
Let that be our thrill and not be killed by chasing after lies

We’ve got it made, got the greatest trade, I can’t believe they pay me
For being a kid, doing what I did, back when I was a baby
I’m an Arborist, I was made for that twisted backyard beast
I’m the yen to it’s yang and I’ll be that till I’m deceased

So now let me shout to the world throughout, and call-out to my clan
This rhymes about you, holler back, I know you understand

You’ll know who you are, if you’ve wrecked out a spar, with sawdust in your face
Or admiring the view, had a bird land next to you, not expecting you in his place
But it’s your place too, what you’re born to do, following after passion
You’re one of the few, through and through, you’re doctor and assassin

They’ll point to a spot and ask if you’ve got, what it takes to put it there
And with a secret prayer, you’ll miss the house by a hair, and when they’ve changed their underwear
You’ll just smile, and in your helmet-hair style
You’ll say what we all say, “An inch is as good as a mile.”

So I’m calling my tribe, the ones who subscribe to life with saws and saddles
I don’t know all your names, but I know, a-lot of your battles
I know the ropes, and the broken hopes, and comebacks, I’ve had a few
Broken homes and broken bones can be good teachers too

I’ve been a Jedi and a fool, but when I come home from hard-knock-school
My kids hug the smell, of exhaust mixed with cedar
And it’s good for a tree, and family, to have a strong central leader
That can shoulder the load and live by a code and know when to tend some slack

Because the best rides of our lives begin the moment we give it back
Yeah, I know Blake and Spider-Jack, and they know DRT
So if you know them, then shake my hand, I’m August Hunicke
I’m an arborist, I’m not meant merely to exist
I was made for the crown, of the tree of life

You get my gist?

I was made for this.