You took me to your favourite place on Earth 
to see the tree they cut down ten years from your birth. 
Our fingers traced in circles round its history, 
we brushed our hands right back in time through centuries.

As you held me down, you said:

"I'll see you in the future when we're older
and we are full of stories to be told.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
I'll see you with your laughter lines."

Changes on our hands and on our faces, oh, oh
memories are mapped out by the lines we'll trace.

As you held me down, you said:

"I'll see you in the future when we're older
and we are full of stories to be told.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
I'll see you with your laughter lines."

Ashen faces in cold breeze,
ashen faces in cold breeze,
all the stories you will leave,
all the stories you will leave.

I'll see you in the future when we're older
and we are full of stories to be told.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
I'll see you with your laughter lines.

I'll see you in the future when we're old.
I'll see you in the future when we're old.

Mark is sure that in three year's time, they'll both be sitting on the age-old remains of a giant. 

Jackson isn't so sure he can take the next three years. 

And Mark is swept into the storm of quiet steps and the click of an empty gun and snow splattered with blood. And then Jackson is dragged into the whirlwind, and then it isn't about sitting on that tree stump again with the happiness of decades etched near the eyes. It's about sitting on that stump again, bruised or broken or both.

And then it's about not giving in. 

All Mark wants to do is survive, and to keep his mind alive. 

All Jackson wants to do is see Mark again, sitting on that oldened, deadened stump, in shadow or in light.