How great thou art.
The sweat from our pores seep,
How great thou art.
The claims you make,
pierce the minds of the weak,
How great thou art?
Withdrawal deemed as weak,
our arguments, deemed as meek,
How great thou art.
The blood we shed,
Tears uncared,
How great your art?
Suffering it ends,
Life on bullet's end,
How great thou art.
Then lies were made,
Sorrow facade,
How great thou ART!
Continue your art,
lives short you cut.
All we say are but,
Sorrow's play.
Remember the shade of winds,
Colours galore!
The shade that brings
Sorrow's call.
Another might tell,
of Justice's Cry.
For he has been abandoned,
for the Dominant Lie.
Do not percieve to think,
you are great.
Even intelligence,
leaves something to be said.
For the weeping of earth,
shall never end,
Neither shall the Play,
Of Sorrow's Den.
" You can own the Earth and still,
All you'll own is earth until
you can paint,
with all the Colours of the Wind"
-Colours Of the Wind
undead withering eternal