The world is a goon,
everywhere, a bunch of pantaloons.
Don't look out of the window to the past,
the shadows steal your life before it could happily last.
This is the prayer of the last sons under the sun,
the grains of sand erode into the wounds of a barren soul.
under the shades of a tree, under the silver dark cloud;
soiled sands in hues of red, testimonies to the fallen's blood.
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