The skies have darkened

and the seas have dried.

Your honest ways have turned to lies.

Your hands of promise

turned to hands of pain.

You take for granted the life that God create

The life that God created.

The frost and flowers

Mother gave to you,

the muffled whispers bleeding true.

And it doesn't matter how

what kind of eyes your looking through.

Do you see our Mother's dying?

Here's a picture for you.

I wanna paint this picture for you!



With every black choking for breath

and every inch closer to death.

Her hands are held out for you.



(solo)



You said the reasons

we're in the cities that we all made

was that we rage our poor Mother.

Poor Mother.

Poor Mother.

Now that she's leaving

and she's thrown off all that she gave,

we dig the grave

of our poor Mother!

The grass ain't growing

in my front yard, no.

Poor Mother.

Poor Mother.   

Poor Mother.