The World's Waters Stagnant; Blackend With Hate,
The Clouds Grey, Shedding Salt Filled Tears,
The Wind Whistles The Songs That Captives Sing,
As The River Cools The Fugitives Burning Feet,
Though Polluted It Glitters Beneath The Sun,
Which Sits In The Polluted Sky,
The Still Sane Sun Reflects Off The Traumaed Eye,
Turning It's Tears Into Liquid Gold,
Though To The Money Hungry Ruler,
They Are Not Worth A Thing