My friend can hear the screams of trees,
she says they keep her up at night,
and at first,
no one would believe her.

She told us that they called for help,
begged for mercy as the forests died,
until all she heard was shrieking.

They told her she was dreaming,
that nothing was wrong.

Eventually we all could feel it,
when you walk through a city,
and the concrete walls block out the sun,
when the summer seems a bit too hot,
and the winter a tad too warm.

But still they told us that we were dreaming,
that nothing was wrong.

Now all their doubts are gone,
swallowed by fire or floods,
ripped up by tornadoes that shouldn't exist.

And no one says that we are dreaming,
because the screams won't let us sleep.