Black Skies

Every autumn when the leaves begin 2 fall,
every night the cool winds chills us all...
Every Sunday when all the Church bells ring,
all the poor children, begin 2 sing...

The black skies are coming, coming-
can't U C the clouds are churning, burning?...
The poor children all cry out in pain-
fantasies of riches are made in vain...
The black skies are coming, coming-
can't U C the clouds are churning, burning?...

That's when trouble brews in the air,
and all good deals end up unfair...
Clouds being 2 stir all up above,
God begins 2 question our love...

Chorus

If we don't act soon, it will all B gone,
can't U understand that means we'll die alone?...
All the little children are crying out,
maybe this is something U should think about...

Chorus.