Heavy summer rains.
Bright winter sun.
And the World spun, spun.

Melting ice, are they to blame?
Punished for naught, we bear no shame?
And we think the World, tame? Tame?

Lightning strikes thrice.
Once by morning, twice by night.
And the World fights, fights.

Ancient minder now grows cold.
Anger comes to reshape the mould.
And we think the World, controlled? Controlled?!

When forests burn and chaos rains who is it you think that will remain?
Him so old or us so young? Who’ll be left to say?
The World still spun.