Opera

Seven Billion; too big,
I cannot see the number.
Break it down.

Summer, a field, picnic
pork pies, cool bags.
Dainty lanterns throw
territorial light
on a small, earth patch,
claimed for a night
gilded in voice, laced
by orchestral ribbons.

Fifty thousand faces;
multiply to the power
of human. One million

tribal power beats.
Six million discarded
folk songs and arias;

do you hear their chorus,
stilled, by division.
Sorrow, in their silence.

Edited 19.08.09 Straight to dvd version

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Seven billion people,
and growing, said George,
ten billion someday.
Twenty one thousand
genes apiece; each
individual encoded
to be
just themselves.

Seven Billion; too big,
I cannot see the number.
Break it down.

Summer, a field, picnic
pork pies, cooler bags.
Dainty lanterns throw
territorial light
on a small, earth patch
claimed for a night
gilded in voice, laced
by orchestral ribbons.

Fifty thousand faces;
multiply to the power
of human. One million

tribal power beats.
Six million discarded
folk songs and arias;

do you hear their chorus,
stilled, by division.
Sorrow, in their silence.

Edited 15.08.09 (Hollywood version)

--------------------------

Seven billion people,
and growing, said George,
ten billion someday.
Twenty one thousand
genes apiece; each
individual encoded
to be
just themselves.

Seven Billion; too big,
I cannot see the number.
Break it down.

Summer, a field, picnic
pork pies, cooler bags.
Dainty lanterns throw
territorial light
on a small, earth patch
claimed for a night
gilded in voice, laced
by orchestral ribbons.

Fifty thousand faces;
multiply to the power
of human.

Hear their chorus.

British Independent Film version (restored)

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