Flowers blossoming every day,
At the height of our pleasures in the absence of our pain
Amorality, unable to determine the boundary,
Is it right?
Is it ethical?
Is it allowed by society?
Is it clean?
Is our conscience clear?
With shovels and rifles we stride;
We mean war
Fighting! Fighting! Fighting!
For our forgotten rights,
Clearing anything or anyone standing on our way;
This is the time; the minute, the second.
Freedom is never given its taken!
How many more must die?
Who will be brave enough to stop this madness?
Liberation? Civilization? First world?
At what cost ?
Flowers are blossoming no more,
At the height of our pain in the absence of our pleasures,
Digging our own graves; burying our own race.