A world to repair
And a wrench in your hands.
The rusted bolt of despair
Has long since plagued these lands

Where are the birds that flew;
Through the sky, in pairs of two.
Where are the trees that grew;
With leaves and sap that stuck like glue.
The golden world’s in your hands too,
Why not make this gray sky blue?
Show us the world that’s true,
Bring out your natural hue.

Bring out our natural hue.