Migration

(I have been experimenting with blues lyrics lately. This is one example of what I have produced. Comments are welcome.) The earth yields no crops we sow. The earth yields no crops we sow. Fields turned to dust, Water low. Animals have taken flight. Animals have taken flight. Summer dried, The river's might. We packed our tribe and left. We packed our tribe and left. Our land gone, Summer's theft. Finally, the vast ocean's empire. Finally, the vast ocean's empire. For meat we fished. Farming yields grew higher.