There are still some places
Where they burn the fields of spring
And plant new seeds in the ashes
Is this what we are doing
Burning cities and forests
Throwing another log on the flames
In a twisted kind of self-
Immolation scorching the earth
So those who die in fire
And even the animals and plants
Might be the seeds of hell
Grown into paradise pastures
Called back in another thousand years
To reclaim their native ways
And sing their ancestral chants
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