From the hearts of those who the desert devoured The flame of life is gone And their pale and skinless bones mark the absence of their god The herds of whaling children raise their eyes higher But the sky above is darkened As their wings are scorched in fire And their tiny hands stretch out for help and mothers soothing arms While the father cries in heaven Leaving the child forever scarred For it's not water that fills the streams But a wave of bitter tears While the sound of distant trumpet roams forth with the silent hearse Once blessed and serene A manmade heaven A haven for the low and the weak Is now but a sculpture A monument of grief And a thousand empty and sore eyes turn towards the sky And beg for a small redemption Before the last hope shall die All that was and was to become Lies buried in the sand But the might that made it happen They could never understand