I hear the trees of the forest sing,
they sing an ancient praise
When the morning star had yet to be named
and the rising sun flared unrestrained.
Sing then of birds and riders
clashing in an ash colored air
making victims victorious
and princes pale
I saw lightning dash
through twigs and gaps and lines
I cast my lot and it fell into craters
covering flashing steel and rotting bunkers
I watched chariot fire form clouds
Burning the sound of men into evergreen.
What do I have to do with you?
Oh dust and air silence and storm
For I hear only the trees of the forest sing
The first and the last of your days.