With a pen in my hand I was shaking;
and I knew in my heart (that was aching):
how for all it is worth,
our sweet home, planet Earth,
irrevocably we were forsaking.
As a whole we had kinda forgotten
that this home that we put a whole lot in
would still give me a start
when I look in my heart
all the way to the core: it was rotten.
I was trembling and wrote in my journal,
but my words were soon turning infernal,
and I saw myself write
with such sarcasm and spite
“They do tell me that hope springs eternal.”
As you know, that was Pope I was citing.
Scratch that, ‘cause I’d rather be writing:
“If we never give in
you know that we’ll win,
either that, or we will go down fighting.”
You all know the reply I would give her:
“What you asked is too much to deliver.
I’m just one single drop.”
But she told me: “Don’t stop;
without drops there can’t be any river.”