Too early,the bulldozers start to roar. It's five-thirty and still dark, as they move,tearing the ground; Ripping the grass and flowers. The dust comes in the window; The road, more people must come; The wilderness can not stand Falling before their power; Leaving the orange cones behind and deserts, where trees once stood. And so I must dry my eyes Because to be cleared: That's what land is for.