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.

Trees.

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.