I think back to a time:

When the trees would sing,
The grass would sway,
The church bells would ring,
And the birds would stay.
You'd hear the sound,
a wonderful sound,
ringing in the east.
And earth be bound,
the life be bound,
and pain would be the least.
Where does the time go?
Into a jar up high in the heavens?
To hold forgotten memories?
When will past come to future, and declare, "I am what you are not."?
Is there no hope?
When will there be fresh food,
waiting when we go home?
When will there be no crude,
hiding behind flesh and bone?

Where did the time go...