Sing, O ye sweetest of voices,
sing, O ye whose heart still hopes,
for the Right Whale.

Sing, O ye children,
sing, O ye loving parents of children,
for the passing of the Great Trees.

Play the slow drums
and the low guitars
for the ruins of the Rain Forests.

Chant in unison, O ye who yet possess heart,
cry in music, O ye who have seen Love's passing
for the hunted Mourning Dove'¦

...the absent Carrier Pigeon,
the Holy White Bear,
and the great sleeping glaciers,
and all things of Monumental Life
whose misfortune it is
to be larger in the flesh
than a man.

Where is there a casket
fit for a river?
A headstone for a mountain?

Sing long and sing in the dark harmony
O ye singers of Lament
all ye whose conscience cries out
for the great destruction we have wrought.

Ah ... this is the age of lamentation
when before our tearful eyes
cities will fall and grow silent,
our bones lie beside a shard
of buried pottery, and the music
of our voices be lost
with the echoes.

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