Song Of Trees

I heard the song,
The song that carried death with it,
The song to which
All of us are deaf,
If we could listen to it,
We would not forget.
I heard the song of trees,
'Cause trees grow old,
But they stand still.
Even if the wind blows with rage,
Even if the sky screams its name,
They will not move.
But they ached,
They ached when they watched
Us kill in what we bielieved in,
When we let our mind crush our soul,
When we felt we could grab the moon,
But only reached for our blood,
And this blood covered our eyes.
Now deaf and blind we live in lies,
And the sand covered our faces,
We don’t know who we are,
We don’t know what we are,
But we are all the same,
Playing all the game of death.
We held ourselves so high,
That even mountains seemed too small,
But now we lay below the stones,
The stones in which we wrote their song,
And now the song blows in the air,
Singing their screams,
Playing their pain.
But we cannot hear it,
'Cause we are deaf to the song,
And blind to our love