• The hills of green, that waved like oceans on the land,
    Turned read as the deserts and turned to sand.
    Rivers ran through in an endless spring,
    But now is the time to sing.
    The sun sets on a meaningless world of pain.
    A world that has slowly gone insane.
    But when the sun rises again in the sky.
    The new born land, and flowing rivers will help us to fly.