The Orchards? Gone. The wood's? retreating;
Corporations now competing
For my wage and grandma's mattress dough.

Country poor get even poorer;
Stinking cabin, oh the horror
No one seems to care or notice though.


Now I try to fight this faceless foe,
But grandma's dead from lack of dough;
Soon they all will come to know
That we will reap what others sow.

WE will reap what others sow.