by Paul Spencer 2000
A D A E
1. This planet is a rock that boils and churns,
A B7 G
Continents float as the liquid turns,
F#m E A F#m G F#m
Our island bobs like a raft at sea, or loose debris,
D A G
And somehow life remains,
2. This island’s made of solid stone,
As dry as a crow-pecked bullock bone,
But a layer on top like a vellum skin, both soft and thin,
Supports us all alone.
3. The soil holds on with a mighty grip,
To giant roots so the trees won’t slip,
It clothes itself in vibrant green, a fragrant screen,
Through which the waters drip.
4. The soil, the Earth, in slow routine,
Gives forth a beauty so serene,
A person who such splendour saw, subdued with awe,
Might think some god had been.
5. But looking close it can be found,
The beauty springs from underground,
A million living creatures dance, in every ounce,
And miracles abound.
6. These living things are made of soil,
The Earth in which they live and toil,
And there the Earth receives and gives, the planet lives,
In fine and fragile soil.