In the pure land of emeralds and gold,
Who bears the silent hefty tears of man.
There’s quiet story waiting to be told,
Beneath the shadow of a thousand fears.
The ancient tree that bore a lot of fruit,
Was said to claimed by strangers who set lines.
They axed the branches, they stepped on the root,
And took the living fruits of a great plain.
The iron cage of hunger seals the door,
Where simple truths are bartered for a lie.
Like dust that doth lie on a broken floor,
As they have gazed upon a blind man's sky.
With a weighty greed, scales of law are tipped,
And the rusty sword cuts the hands of peace.
All the weeds take hold on the barren soil,
While waiting for the sorrow to decrease.
But in the stillness of the guarded lands,
The air still and soft whispered sound was heard.
It lives a huge fire in the frozen veins,
And raises the great cloud of dejection!
The language of rising dawn awakens,
When there’s harmonious song shadows can’t drown.
The ice of old oppression has broken,
And hope formed exquisite heavenly crown.
The seeds have scattered on valleys meet,
To create unbreakable shield of clay.
The unity drumming will march with beat,
To make the tyrants' ghosts depart away.
The stones of the wall will fall to the dust,
When many rivers converge to a sea.
The pure land finds harmony, peace and trust,
And each of chained tomorrow is set free.