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?