The beauty of the Serengeti is not what it used to be.
Where once was water and shade of all kinds,
Now nothing is what you’ll see.
The trees have faded to a pile of dust.
The river has melted under the rays of the sun.
Under them all will dawn a new life, out of the hard, melted rust.
But to be sure, what caused this all?
Who is responsible for the animal’s call?

On we roam, through the unmerciful heat.
Passing by the desert so awfully neat.
We have learned about the trees that now offer no shade,
The rivers which offer no refreshment.
Our feet dragging behind us, we set out again
In look of revenge.
But we wonder, over it all.
Who is responsible for the animal’s call?

Life is tough in the lonesome herd.
We struggle on without a word.
Our voices have fled in the mountainous heat.
In the sand, we drag our feet.
The mountains in the distance never seem to get near.
But there is only on thing of which we fear.
For we wonder, over it all.
Who is responsible for the animal’s call?

On we go, at the same, normal pace.
Some of us even may have lost a familiar face.
At the end of the day, we are happy to rest.
But tomorrow we start again, putting our skills to the test.
The night comes cold, blowing and fierce.
Sand blows around, throwing a pierce.
And in the night, we wonder, through this all.
Who is responsible for the animal’s call?

The next day we set out again.
Why had we stopped? What a shame!
The mountains are here; the mountains are there.
Over there, over there, mountains are everywhere.
But how can this be? This is not our land.
But this part of the world isn’t covered in sand!
The mountains are jagged, shaped and rough.
But to reach them, that won’t be tough.

But at the edge of the cliff,
We find if smooth but stiff.
Up we look, to the once clear old sky.
What I see, bring tears to my eye.
So it is the man, with it’s unruly face.
Ruins our kind and his own humane race.
But now we know who caused us to fall.
He is responsible for the animal’s call.