no meteor, no dinosaur
what on earth is hitting the earth
a heat wave is melting our mother's floor
what caused this mega maniacal birth
of a baby in heat, grown to child on fire
aged to rage while fed by men
birds cannot sit on a red hot wire
more heat keeps coming what happens when
atmosphere in heat will seek to sex cloud
arms of our mother are warping and burning
her clothing now torn bursts to flaming shroud
while the blood in her veins is churning
and boiling and rolling to ashes and soot
poor mother of all has a crafted fever
branches now bared where once silk homes were put
like tiny shriveled paper wads, burnt orb weavers
demolished by fire no more intricate strands
mother nature, insulted, erupted
refusing to shake the mechanic's hands
who've misused and abused her and corrupted
treaties made when she had youth on her face
when her hands had wrinkled but not yet scarred
those hands holding cards didn't show any trace
of the hands that were later feathered and tarred
there is not enough ice now to melt, to assist
in drowning out fire burning mother's old skin
her manipulation men could not resist
their rapes of our mother are doing her in
so - who can save this old pilgrim soul
and stop men's self-centered burning desire
she can make diamonds from chunks of coal
and if angry enough, can fight fire with fire
her daughters, the seas, now in anger will rise
while the steams of pollution not hers or her own
still spew while the crematorium sighs
till what's left is her burnt out spinal bone
future scene - what happened to old mother earth
did she vanish from space like a burned paper kite
heat sterilizes - can she give new birth
an old song says all things pass into the night
if tricks don't stop that card dealers pull
fire starters will beat her with hot blooded hearts
that deck of cards is no longer full
if we fail to throw very well-aimed darts
and hit the target with strong intent
on boards that put out fires and freeze ice
there'll be no defense, no new game to invent
without her collateral, all will pay the price
the soil is now ash and the once-ice boils
green trees and blue seas red with greed's desire
there is not much left to pick up from the spoils
mother may regret giving sons the gifts of fire