I couldn’t plant it. I couldn’t let go. That seed was a mirror—too painful to show. But hiding the seed doesn’t hide the crime. The Lorax was right. I was stealing… not time.

(Poking his head out. He’s older, softer, sadder.) I know what I did. I don’t need your lecture. I built this whole mess on a single conjecture— “If more is more, then the most must be best.” But the most… was a barbed-wire fence ’round an empty nest.

(Singing softly, a melody rising) Plant it in the shadow of the mess you made. Let the roots break the concrete where the profit laid. One seed doesn’t fix it. One tree doesn’t mend. But a forest of sorry’s a forest, my friend.

(Sing-speaking, a raspy, soulful growl) I speak for the trees, though the trees are all gone. I speak for the wind, though the wind has moved on. I’ve shouted and hollered till my voice went dry, At the fool in the window with the greedy green eye.

(Stepping closer. Not angry now. Almost gentle.) I didn’t leave you. You left me for dead. You traded the sky for a roof ’round your head. You traded the breeze for the smell of the vat. And now all you’ve got is a dusty old flat.

Setting: A murky, grey wasteland. The stage is littered with jagged stumps and skeletal factory parts. A single, rusty ladder leads up to the ONCE-LER’s shuttered window. The air smells of "smogulous smoke."

The game? Boy, the game ended ten thousand stumps back. You’ve turned the Truffula groves into bric-a-brac and a shack! You’ve silenced the Swomee-Swans, choked the Humming-Fish dumb. And still you sit there, counting your nails and your thumb.

(A pause. His voice softens.) You kept it.