the trees are listening each time a missile's made

they hide three mystics the earth sends from her grave

to tell us the future has been stolen away

by diggers, drillers and sellers

but we won't stop 'till we're under a black sky



he took my picture int he cemetery sun

my body was tempted to crumble into one

reunion of dust until creation's done

returning ashes to ashes

we won't stop 'till we're underneath a black sky



the commerce the intrigue

self-slaughtered souls cry out to dead poor men

for a drink at the water hole

but their tongues will burn dry

as the day they were sold for

forests raped into deserts

we won't stop 'till we're underneath a black sky