Mother nature is sad...
No, no, don't get me wrong. She's still as beautiful as ever
There are still flowers blooming in her hair and birds chirping on her palms. The sun and sky still clash on her brow, and sweet spring breezes still waft past her lips.
A little boy sat across, weaving for her a tale...
A tale of fire and shadow, Of haunting cries and despair.
Of empty, vacant eyes, In a city now not fair.
A tale of mothers asking, To any who might hear,
"Have you seen my little girl? Lost is the sweet, sweet dear."
A tale of ash and smoke he told, Of little pleading cries.
Of his papa's one last kiss, And his own last goodbyes.
"Mother dear, do you know," he said, "A people I have seen,
Waking up to noises harsh, Sleeping where no one's been."
"It's harsh," he said, "it's sad," he said, "As to why I have no clue,
Mother dear, sweet mother dear, That's why I've come to you