The sun blinds my eyes
Like the world's candy-coated lies
Our faces straight when lying
On the inside our conscience dying
Buildings made for boast and pride
Nothing of a soul inside
Destruction in man's wake
Mother Nature's spirit breaks
Construction destorys
We think earth as a toy
Always cutting down trees
Cutting down more to please
The materalistic ways of the American shopper
But all they are is choppers
Never do we stop
Until the day we relize
That trees dont materalize
out of nowhere
The only place that we can see trees
is behind a glass
with something called green grass
 
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