When men become more gentle and the forests live in peace;
When will it come, when will it start, when will the violence cease.
We’re like a tribe that’s lost it land, a species lost it’s place.
What will be in the future of this long-lost human race.
The future’s not in the present, our future’s in our past;
It dwells in the way things were – what we’re destroying fast.
We have no ears to listen, no thought to what we say;
but we’re so sure that we are right we see no other way.
Their voices call out daily; their offered hand is free
we simply need to reach out and accept what now must be.