The wind blows through the leaves, as the branches talk to me; Telling of their deep sorrow, about what will be on the morrow. Tragedy beseech this land, all because the greed of man; Why doth not man awake, before the earth doth quake. I thought my sorrow was to blame, as I hold my head in shame; But I see through my tears, its caused by all our fears. And I thought the willow only cried for me.