The sun beating down on everything in its path
The air, so humid, feels like a hot bath.
So I sit beneath a huge canopied tree,
Hoping for relief, oh please, let me be.
The sun goes down, but the heat’s still high,
The moonlit night feels heavy and sighs.
The morning burns bright, with more heat to bear,
We’re living in an oven, does anyone care?
The days repeat, burning everything that grows,
So we pray for winter and hope that it snows.
We don’t expect a foot all at one time,
It’s as if our planet has become its own mime.
We have this one place, we all call home,
We travel the world since we’re free to just roam,
But wherever we go, whatever we do,
We’ll still feel this heat, since the sun goes too.
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