Oh God No!

Oh God no!, the woodcutters are here,

The forest they are going to clear.

For the needs of humans, they cut us into piles,

And then they transport us to miles.

Please help us we don't want to die suffering,

Before they finish the forest clearing.

We provide you the best of air to breathe,

We provide you to write paper sheets.

Listen to our cries and our blood splashing,

After they have cut us in trucks they are trashing.