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