I hear a song that drifts through the trees.
It lifts men broken from their knees.
It untangles their hearts, wrapped in sorrow,
To offer a promise for the morrow.
Through the construction and thick city air,
Problems arise, pushing men to despair.
But then the sweet melody that so few can hear,
Drifts on the winds to bring them such cheer.
Most have become deaf to the songs blissful tones,
They are to busy stripping God's gifts to their bones.
Denying their true passion by ravishing the earth,
Men damn themselves daily by destroying their birth.
The right that they once had when first they were born,
Is gone to them now, filled only with scorn.
Hatred and anger is all they possess,
For the ones that cherish the song above all the rest.
The song that is sung, which dances through the leaves,
Is simple in nature when ones truly believes.
It stems from the soul, whence it was born
Delivering salvation with the sound of its mighty horn.