Rain racing to wash out plastic into te moana.
As Ika we struggle
With the human community
They pollute our moana
We want to swim like we used to
We get pulled to the ocean floor
shiny sand turned into a dark palace of plastic
Ika are strangled
We cry or fly to fish heaven
Painful plastic in our stomachs
The ocean’s a stage for plastic
A quarter of ngå ika are dead
Moana’s floors covered in parahitiki (plastic)
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