• The crickets star in the nighttime symphony--
    yet no one is listening...
    They sing of seasons' change;
    they sing of seasons passed.
    They warn of disaster not too far away.
    No one listens anymore.
    The bittersweet cry becomes distant as the sounds of the city grow.
    The stars shed no more light on the stage--
    the concert has fewer visitors.
    Why isn't anyone listening?
    The little orchestra is beginning to quiet;
    dying from the toxins of machine giants.
    It’s too late to listen anymore....

    Their music is sorely missed.