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From the hearts of those who the desert devoured

The flame of life is gone

And their pale and skinless bones mark the absence of their god

The herds of whaling children raise their eyes higher

But the sky above is darkened

As their wings are scorched in fire

And their tiny hands stretch out for help and mothers soothing arms

While the father cries in heaven

Leaving the child forever scarred

For it’s not water that fills the streams

But a wave of bitter tears

While the sound of distant trumpet roams forth with the silent hearse

Once blessed and serene

A manmade heaven

A haven for the low and the weak

Is now but a sculpture

A monument of grief

And a thousand empty and sore eyes turn towards the sky

And beg for a small redemption

Before the last hope shall die

All that was and was to become

Lies buried in the sand

But the might that made it happen

They could never understand