Everywhere the eye surveys
lies the long fingerprints of the hand
that divides the ground and strips it down.
Choking machines do its commands
cutting deep in the earth's veins
and raising tall dark blue mountains of slag
for man must leave his mark on the land.
He sketches grey concrete pictures,
smokestacks and drainpipes drawn from his hand.
His magic touch kills off the cuff
living things that don't fit the plan.
He paints the skies and the rivers
with poisons that run in strange color bands
for man must leave his mark on the land.
Power lines by the artist
who turns the meadows to junkyards so grand.
Leftover parts lie near and far
for all the world is his garbage can.
He makes his trail through the forest
of plastic wrappers and rusty beer cans
for man must leave his mark on the land.
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Lyrics submitted by Dave Elder.