I used to live in Paradise,

A paradise, indeed,

Where every day

Was an easy way

As in books by Margaret Mead.

I lived on breadfruit, fish, and pigs

And ran a cargo cult,

But then there came a warming trend

And here was the result:


High tide—where is my island?

Six feet under the ocean then.

Low tide—back comes my island—

Another twelve hours and it’s drowned again!


The Westerners who came in time

Brought many things to me:

Gunpowder, iron, prudery,

Tourism, and VD.

They claimed my land for foreign kings

To whom I had to bow.

They ate me up and spat me out

And who will help me now?


High tide—there goes my island,

Swept into a watery grave.

Low tide—back comes my island,

Safe until the next big wave.


They also brought religion, all

That Christianity

And taught me what I did was wrong

And how I could be free

If only I believed like them

And did just what they do.

Their Jesus walked on water—

Now I wish that I could, too!


High tide—where is my island?

Now it’s part of the ocean floor!

Low tide—here is my island,

But much smaller than it was before!


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