The sky is grey. Some voices in the air.
A man in jeans, with a red shirt, black shoes,
Smokes a cigarette. He's killed tonight. He's killed.
Around a fire, blazing in the middle of the glade,
Some men drink beers, resting from the hard day.
They've cut trees today, they've wounded the earth. They have.
'Wassup Bro? Why ya crying?', one says, laughing.
Other men look at the Bro, smiling, their faces grimed
With soot and dirt from the explosions of the day.
Bro keeps quiet. He knows soon they're all dead.
He pictures the engine, ticking away, he sees his kid
Blurring in the distance of the glade. Empty space.
The earth roars. It's the blowing up of Bro's bomb!
An erasing of lives, for a (good?) cause? Who knows?
Their characters blanked in a second of environmental struggle.