Birds fall dead from the sky
cars, houses spun up to fly.
Snow comes whipping in mid-May
and winds push March fires into LA.

In just a day, forty-degree swing
confuses songs birds now sing.
We ignore warnings signs and calls,
as water rises above city walls.

The canary in the coal mine has died,
and yet in greed and avarice we cried:
Who is willing to pay for such change?
Deliriously, digging deeper into derange.

For now we’ll fight and tumble about
things of glory and riches we shout.
Trying to be above someone or another
forgetting this Earth is all our mother.

Daughters of dinosaurs, birds will find a way
to sing of rebirth when we are gone someday.
And Mother recovers using her power to restore,
and no-one will remember what came before.