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Lyrics
A midnight stroll was all it took
To change my life forever
As I sat in the park of a sleepless city
To gather my thoughts together
I rested my head on the soft green grass
And my conscience started to wander
I looked to the sky to see no stars
"For why is this?" I pondered
All of sudden from within my reach
I heard a struggling, painful wretch
Should I look to my right, who knows what I'll find
Or what my vision will catch
I heard a breathing, a gasping breath
But from what I did not know
I opened my eyes and looked around
To see nothing in my view
"Who is there? Where do you hide?"
I called out to the late-night air
"It is I, this lonely fennel"
Cried a voice from which I don't know where
To my right resided a tiny plant
Of which I looked and wondered
"Is it you, small plant, who's called to me?"
" . . . Or is my mind asunder?"
"It is I who talks, though barely so . . ."
". . . For I am dying each passing second."
A weeze, a cough, a strangled gasp
From the plant of which now holds my attention
"Why do you sound so sickly little one?"
I asked the vanishing life
"Why is it you die on this warm night?"
I empathized with it's strife
"Your cars, your factories, your horrid machines, they've diluted the air you breathe . . ."
". . . For tiny plants such as I are now but a dying breed."
"For many years my kind has dwelt, in lands near and far . . ."
". . . But now because of your kind so cruel, our demise is not so far."
"Is it because of human technology and our greed and lust for wealth . . ."
". . . That you now stand here barely so with your decaying health?"
The plant was silent for a moment as I awaited its slow response
All it did was blow with the wind and respond it did not . . .
Seconds passed as I laid quietly, next to the lonely fennel
Not a word or sound came from it's direction, for this I would not settle
Disbelief and incredible sadness overtook my emotions
Was this a dream? Is this all real? Truth was not my notion.
I arose from my laying position only to find pure fright and horror
From all over, on every side, was a sound of which made me cower
Gasping breathes, as if from punctured lungs, I heard from every direction
As I looked within my sight the most ghastly, sad collection
Throughoutt the park laid a field of flowers, all of which were crying
A blackened fog, a killer smog, from which all the plants were dying
I looked once more to the lonely, dying fennel for it had apparently withered
Having lost all it's beautiful pedals, remained a ghostly greyed deceased stem
One last time I looked to the sky to again see not a star
And in its place I noticed a blanket of which not very far
A blackened thick fog of death spewed forth by man creation
Gasious fumes are the earth's/plant's doom, a destructive domination
Out of the park I sadly walked, my mind in a million places
How would they look or what would they resemble if these plants had faces?
Distorted, pained, unhappy and pale are what I would imagine!
For soon they'll all die, and never again flourish, in traditional man-caused fashion . . .
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Em Dath Rir
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