The morning with the wet grass,
Started with a full blast
With the lord's name,
A reminder of the past,
A fear in the heart for eternity to last
The reminder of sorrow,
And a grim reminder of an uncertain tomorrow,
Between the burn't houses ,
With each side having it's own voices,
With the aftermath of horror,
With fires of hatred erupted around the  corner,
Streets covered in blood,
Shops which remain burn't,
Dead bodies that lie around ,
Ask in dismay about their faults abound,
Asking which side protected the lord,
Following religious guidelines word to word,
While goons, politicians and the influential count profits,
Countless lives lost in such fruitless conflicts
Such is the sweet desire for revenge,
Such is the need of my lord to be provident ,
By creatures such as we ,
Who are unable to control anything a spree,
For puny mortals who cannot even predict death,
Somehow both sides will justify this at best,
Blaming each other's religion,
Coronating murderers and hooligans,
As heroes protecting their religious strife,
While we sleep in our non-existent lives