Hello racket, my old friend, I'm forced to hear you roar again Because a truck loudly creeping left a crew while I was sleeping And the rumble that was planted in my brain still remains. It's the sound of landscaping. In restless dreams, I walked alone, Narrow streets of gravel stone, 'Neath the halo of a street lamp Racers roared in the cold and damp When my ears were stabbed by the blare of a big truck horn That split the morn. It's the start of landscaping. Beneath the clouded sky I heard, Ten thousand blowers, maybe more Leaves blown but not moving Blown leaves stuck and just glistening People can't write songs, so songs won’t be shared And no one dared Stop the sound of landscaping. "Fools," said I, "You do not know Noise like a cancer grows Hear my words if you can Guard your silence if you can" But my words like silent raindrops fell And drowned in the sound of landscaping. And the people bowed and prayed To the fucking engines they had made And a speaker sounded out its warning In the words that it was forming And the speaker said, "The words of the prophets are spoken in the backs of your minds And lost in the sound of landscaping"