Not exactly new year but maybe a new thought for a new year.

There's song in the mountains when all's quiet,
It's carried hither and tither like the wind in the tree's,
A fleeting primal rythem wrought with life and death,
Kudo's and blessings for those in tune with her majesties,
Eternal sustinance saith the voice of creation; we are but babes.

We are but an insane abstraction, destraction, infraction,
She bleeds your precious black; oh how she bleeds,
Amidst a quickening pulse her temperature rises,
tempt her if you please, her native fornicating seed,
Repulsion lay opposed for attraction is her way.
Are we so deaf, so blind, so special not to take heed,
Dare we test the resolve of her mighty inteligence,
We have yet to come of age, yet to establish our creed,
We are but babes indeed.

We stand before her now orphans of our true nature,
But we are Gods children not subjects of thy Earth they wail,
An aboriginal apart conjuring concrete forests,
Beseeching thy beauty amongst compromised exploitation our ails
Calling her bowels hell, thy womb of creation,
She'll suffer me not for when all is still we fail,
For if ignorance is bliss what are we;
We are but babes in captativity!