ive taken some screenshots but now i cant find them, ive looked everywhere i think. Can anyone help me?

On a beautiful hill in the country lived a young oak tree. This tree was planted several years ago, though the humans who planted it left the land in search of better opportunities in the city. The tree had a few happy years, enjoying the spring and summer, then having a beautiful autumn and surviving the winter. It was steadily growing here, the ground was fertile and the land was lush and giving.

One autumn day, a group of local kids found the tree on the hill. They were not respectful to Nature and found cruel ways to have fun. The kids decided to pick on this tree, breaking off it's beautiful limbs, cutting deep into it's trunk with pocket knives, and even using spray paint to write terrible graffiti all over the tree's body. They did not know the damage they were doing, nor did they even care. Trees don't have feelings, they're not really living. They're just things put here for them to destroy in their boredom.

They would never realize how wrong they were. The kids rode off on their bikes, leaving the tree behind. They would never come back to this tree again, but instead would find other trees to wreck.

The tree clinged to life. It had lost many of it's limbs, making it difficult to gather sunlight. It's roots were cut and stabbed repeatedly, a few of them unable to pull nutrients from the soil. The paint that covered it entered deep into it's body through the deep cuts, poisoning and killing it from the inside.

The tree died that afternoon, no longer the beautiful gift of Nature it was, but a grave sight of death. The remaining leaves fell from the top of the tree, and it rose from the hill much like an obelisk...much like a tombstone.

A few months passed, and during the early spring, a young doe approached the dead tree. She saw the deep gashes and strange markings that covered it, and she began to cry. "Oh my friend, what have they done to you?", she asked.

He flicks his curled tail
And gauges their reaction
Wonders what they must think of him
For being so open with it

She took a part of him with her
And left some of her soul
So that he might be able to return
To where they were

Furnace, and inferno
Melting down your colour scheme
Take apart what you thought was
Your per-son-a-lit-y

You'll never bring them here
You'll never get them too
The desert moon's nomenclature
Of bloodlust will appease you

She was a lady of good taste
She knew just what she'd be doin'
For the rest of her wild life
In a whorehouse, she sang

Hurricane, your exorcism
Frightens life from all the trees
They cut them down and bleed them
Into papier mache silhouettes

Oh she was a lady of bad taste
Knew just what she wanted
Couldn't get it in the wild when she sang
Her wings tore and she kept on singin'

You'll never bring them here - she said!
You'll never get them too - oh no!
The desert moon's nomenclature, oh
Does bloodlust never stay?

She sang 'til her wings tore
'Til the inferno flared down
And furnaced her scheme
Right outta town