The state of things
It’s a crisis
The shame it brings
It’s a crisis
Isolation
It’s a crisis
Mass hysteria
It’s a crisis
Senseless dying
It’s a crisis
Divided nations
It’s a crisis
Spreading virus
It’s a crisis
But the rivers are flowing
Clear. The trees are growing
Years of filth walking astray
Birds are singing
Voices ringing
Through sacred skies of blue and grey
The blind now see the sun rays shining
The worst of times have silver linings