The waves, they crash against the shore, if we came close we would be drowned.
Would there be a sound without the sand?

The brook so clear, it burbles, gurgles, rushes through the ground.
I wonder how it feels, so free, so in command.

The wind, so softly speaking so that it cannot be bound.
Does it breathe its breeze throughout the land?

And we, we ****, destroy and burn and expect to be crowned.
We couldn't do it better if we planned.

One day, the earth will be dead, and dry, with nothing to be found.
I hope that day that we will understand.