I say "the trees feel warm today,
I think they're out of breath,"
They danced for one last time tonight
While waiting for their death.
Axes flying, wounded trees,
They fall with silent screams,
And never will they reach again
Towards Creator's beams.
Trees, they grow around their wounds,
Extend their leafy crown,
But they will never have that chance
When white men cut them down.
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