From the smoke the trees have been cremated
And stone upon gravestone craft our city's walls,
But who builds life to be commemorated
Under the cries of this country's gall?
Resting streets blighted forever with red,
Crises of children maturing in bloodshed.
In this land, different visions reign each road
While the public body feels tremors on its bones:
No philistines retreat with driving goads,
So we all shrink into our divided homes.
How many wear a cold, weeping eye
As the future of a nation races on by?