This moulded dust fighting over boredom
Raised in victory over freedom
Blended with the earth in fiefdom
They never sought their kindred nor Kingdom
This dust reminds of our veiled comrades
We have not forgotten their voices and the vices
Ideology of religious ethnic prices
We have paid in full and our prize is the ''surprise''
Though the hail sweep off all this dust
in our minds a piece Is the 'mountain' rust
Broken trust and hegemonic last
this same moulded dust! Will it ever burst?!
Though we roll over, our lives going under
Though we die...We will never surrender
over terror and brazen murder
Our own is our home! No kindred! This is our order!
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