Gowns are lifted up to worship the blowing wind,
trousers are dancing wide all for the rushing wind.
Fertile lands are raped by spilled blood gushing out of hopeless souls who died to survive all for change.
Days, weeks, months gone past sorrows occupied our heart's mansion for our riches that perished while yet alive.
Now; Let the land receive it's portion of the fertility of the time.
Let the clock be tilted back to days when even dead souls smile.
Let the suffocated minds be filled with winds of change.
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