Who hasn’t known sorrow or the failings of tomorrow
Who hasn’t seen sadness in all shades of white and black
Who hasn’t fought fear or the most fickle reasons
If you stand strong even in the sunset, I adore your pluck.
Our folks suffer on the journey to fulfillment
The nonchalant rulers remain tyrants still
They toss them to and fro like a ball on a field
They ignore the sand grains falling in the hourglass
With voices screaming, shouting and sullen
Our people try to find salve for their swollen sores.
But in the end, the sheep is just like the wolf
Scaring the defenseless to flight
Stealing our days and nights
And leaving us doubtful that we made a right choice.