I used to run through the meadows of paper grass
Once when I was younger and my mind was made of glass
Now the cardboard hills are turning black
And all the animals poise to attack when I
Turn my back
When I turn my back on them
When I turn my back
Oh should I bring about the end of this tragedy
Oh should I put out the fire burning my trees
And Oh should I go to the home where I once stood
And all my armies fought for good
Woah to the things I've done to trade my meadow for a gun
Have you crafted all day?
Come and show what you've made
Is your mind made of clay
To be sculpted by pain?
I used to run through the meadows of paper grass
Once when I was younger and my mind was made of plastic
Now the cardboard hills are turning black
And all the animals poise to attack when I
Turn my back
When I turn my back on them
When I turn my back
Oh I used to run through the meadows of paper grass
Once when I was younger and my mind was made of glass
Now the cardboard hills are turning black
And all the animals want their homeland back