A terrible day for rain, but not for me
She is the one who weeps
Blindfolded and smiling at the irony

When did the Sun stop being enough?
I can’t recognize the forests we’ve touched
Atone and repeat, we grab and we beat
And where do we run when the world's lost its green?
We will all be buried in the barren prairie sea
The truth of our savior lies buried beneath
Our dogma of comfort in all that we see

Can we find a place where all can be seen as anything more than owed commodity?
And when will we learn that although the fire burns hot
That thistles will grow through concrete once everyone has rot?

Our view of the dream we’ve been gifted has turned to hollow hunger
And the saunter that once moved us forward has turned to divine plunder
Heed not my warning and all will meet death
Uncaptured by words is the length of the end
Heed not my warning and crumble in fear
Nature will find us in spite of deaf ears

From the rivers to the seas, from the shield to the glades
The winds of old still breathe, but their cries for life in vain
Oh how the love is lost, though I still feel it inside
The rivers of idea need to change with the passing of time

Can we find a place where all can be seen as anything more than owed commodity?
And when will we learn that although the fire burns hot
That thistles will grow through concrete once everyone has rot?