Terror in the land of the living!
As many do visit their graves very early;
With bombs falling on the people here and there,
But, where can you call home when, you are not save in your land?
Cake, take, lake, bake, rake, make, gate, brake, fake! !
With the muse of haterd and war in the land;
In the land of the living destroying everything,
With nowhere to call your home as one becomes a refugee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem