The sound of the machines pushing through the forest
The majestic trees falling and breaking the shade.
Birds shrieking as they flee the crashing trees
She was always the hunter, boss of the jungle
Now, being hunted was foreign to her sense
Prowling back to her home, every footstep uncertain.
The machines are deadly bullets ripping through our forests
The destroyers no longer feel the splitting sound of the trees
How do they sleep knowing the only thing they have completed is destruction?