... blow smoke up my ass again.
Eath may be alive: not as the ancients saw her - a sentient Goddess with a purpse and foresight - but alive like a tree. A tree that quietly exists, never moving except to sway in the wind, yet endlessly conversing with the sunlight and the soil. Using sunlight and water and nutrient minerals to grow and change. But all done so imperceptibly, that to me the old oak tree on the green is the same as it was when I was a child.
- James Lovelock
Can’t you hear that Duquesne whistle blowin’Blowin’ through another no-good townThe lights of my native land are glowin’I wonder if they’ll know me next time aroundI wonder if that old oak tree’s still standingThat old oak tree, the one we used to climbListen to that Duquesne whistle blowin’Blowin’ like she’s blowin’ right on time