Segment B3F7A
The world is sick.
We made it so.
A barren waste where no trees grow.
Dry bitter earth, no seeds to sow.
Thick poisoned streams which cannot flow.
To face the facts we were too slow,
We treated nature like a foe.
We didn’t care — we didn’t know;
‘Our sons will pay the debts we owe’
In city wastes now…