The sparkle of the clouds
the dull gleam of the lake
the texture of windswept grass
the spires of trees
the soft sheen of the stones
all deserve much, much better
than us pumping oil and gas.

Our skies start to cloud
our lake starts to die
those fields of grass are gone
the trees have no leaves
broken stones litter streets
all from our bad decisions
but now we're all gone, hence the bones.