What did the world used to be?
No one knows that anymore.
Green, they say. Beautiful and green.
They don’t ever seem to care though.
I know what it really was.
Beautiful and proud trees as far as the eyes can see.
I should know.
I was one.
But now, as the cold hearted workers
In yellow hard hats,
And as the metal saw
Cuts through my beautiful trunk,
I say these last words.
Try to live without us.