And that unkind sun is coming
To dry the pouring tears
Of the heaven o'er the earth
Olive,palm, and the likes
Shall have little to drink
their leaves shall wither
And sunder away from their stem
Streams shall pass into slumber,
Wells shall become a yawned pit
The sun shall dry the earth into dust
And the wind shall carry it about
From here, there and there in whirl
The frosty clime too shall come
To visit the fierce dry sun
Our lips shall quiver, break and pale
Our palm, our feet shall crave for wool
Our stool shall be fast by a burning ember
To warm our cold feet and palm
The heaven will not cry,
Vegetables will not smile
And we shall pay high for the ones that comes by
I hate for this to come, the second season
But my will-drum can't make nature dance
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