One tiny bird, atop the blasted tree,
fluffed its downy golden breast,
opened its shining beak and sang
a new song, from
its heart, over the dying.
Oppression, violence, vice, violation
of my land, killed chirruping chicks,
blasted my family while I flew afar.
These are my lyrics,
breaking me as they died.
They came in filthy smoking tanks,
despoiling, destroying, draining
the joy that lived here and cherished
every gift from God,
now ground from life to death.
I sing over the bodies of children,
their future ripped from their hands
by cowardly men dressed as heroes.
Their souls gone, can never be replaced
their hearts gone for aye.
Fluttering down to the ruined earth,
he saw that hope had been annihilated,
each ruinous act of hate deactivated
the spark of life
generated in love.
Still he opened his throstle, and chanted
his prayer, that despair will die and each
root of hopefulness will bring grace
and the shattered land
shelter life again.