be blunter not, be no folly still: this is our heartland's voice.
we are not this land's tenant, nor are we the shadows that inhabit light — this is out highest meed, we go on with nobler steads.
languorous scraps of warfare and a ****** of metal heed the clarion call of our oneness yet when it rains all shall rend in rust as how our nation furiously drowns yet emerges victorious past the renegade of hours!
in it and from it shall rise the true meaning of our blood. our large voices mellow down in our guts outdoing our smallness - there is a river of phantasmagoria yet its rustle is same in its breadth in our deep land. o, yelp never a lie!
consider truthfully brutal affording solace: it is our form reshaping our body. it is our wills carving our flesh. it is the dreams that are ensanguined in us that forge the arms of our fatherland: language!