DESCRIPTION:
I'm dying, but there's nothing wrong.
It's just the hourglass losing sand.
And as the hours pass, the pen that's in hand, writes what will forever last.
When the last grain falls on the pyramid of life, I know it will, again, turn over.
And all the wisdom left, I'll be able to collect.
And use it to construct another.

Bring me all your money.
I'll add it to my pile.
And on the face of the president, well soon he'll lack the smile.
When the flames are all around, and crops are here tomorrow.
The paper will go flying, but I know it'll be a while,
before the people of the land turn a new direction and,
Nature, herself, will be our protection!
Eat from the hand... that grows from the land.

I'm dying, but there's nothing wrong. It's just the hourglass losing sand.

There's people in the Hills.
I'm one of those people in the hills.
I had to get higher,
so I'm living in the sky now.
And if you're coming to my hill,
be sure that you will,
see what I see,
from the top of my hill...

I'm dying, but there's nothing wrong. It's just the hourglass losing sand.