Air thick with the suns glow
As grass once green is scorched into brown
Birds wade in dust that was once liquid blue
Amongst the dead of the sea
Summer’s here

Heat hits land like a hammer blow
As ancient trees push roots deep into ground
Thirstily looking for the trapped liquid dew
As birds shade under crumbling leaves
Here’s summer

In the shadow of a mountain weeping ice
Red dancing fingers race across a dying meadow
Roaring in delight as the life is eaten
Its blackened breath rises up into a cloudless sky
Summer’s here

Where is the rain to release us from this burning vice?
Where is the hail, where is the snow?
Where are the storm clouds, to cover this murderous sun?
They are lost forever under this climate of change
Here is Summer.

I confess, without shame, I am sick
and tired of fighting—its glory is
all moonshine; even success
the most brilliant is over dead
and mangled bodies, with the
anguish and lamentations of distant
families, appealing to me for sons,
husbands and fathers; tis only those
who have never heard a shot,
never heard the shriek and groans
of the wounded and lacerated that cry
aloud for more blood, more vengeance,
more desolation