There are no virile seeds
To grow on this fertile land.
No! No fertile land
To grow these virile seeds.
There is no voice
To echo this truth
Brewing in bleeding hearts.
Oh! This voices wastes
This voice, clear, resonant
Full of messages
Hollow, empty, void!
Broken tools and machineries
Dying, no, dead seeds
Are their gifts to us
For venturing into the moonlit night
When they massage their greed yet
Polluted water, contaminated food,
Gaseous wastes and acrid air
Are their gifts to us,
For daring to be brave
For daring to be bold
For daring to work our fields
Which for their wasteful parties
They’ve marked.
See! They’ve offered us another land
A land full of promises of prosperity
A land founded on milk
A land cast in honey
A fertile land
With no access road!
Our hands overflow with virile seeds
But all we have is
A land full of promises of prosperity
A land founded on gold
A land cast in diamond
A fertile land
With no access road!
We cannot complain
Our tongues are cut
And they’ve promised us deaf ears
Should we grow another tongue.
But another tongue
We shall grow
So they may grow deaf
And remain deaf to their doom
When it rehearses yet their dirge
Until they grow listening ears
To the truth echoing in our hearts
For the truth echoing in our hearts
Is virile enough seeds
To grow on our fertile lands!
Source: Enigmatic Global Concept