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