"The skies have darkened   and the seas have dried.   Your honest ways have turned to lies.   Your hands of promise   turned to hands of pain.   You take for granted the life that God create   The life that God created.   The frost and flowers   Mother gave to you,   the muffled whispers bleeding true.   And it doesn't matter how   what kind of eyes your looking through.   Do you see our Mother's dying?   Here's a picture for you.   I wanna paint this picture for you!      With every black choking for breath   and every inch closer to death.   Her hands are held out for you.      (solo)      You said the reasons   we're in the cities that we all made   was that we rage our poor Mother.   Poor Mother.   Poor Mother.   Now that she's leaving   and she's thrown off all that she gave,   we dig the grave   of our poor Mother!   The grass ain't growing   in my front yard, no.   Poor Mother.   Poor Mother.    Poor Mother.    "