We were a country that lived near the equator;
I was the land and you were my infinite sky.
We have lived and witnessed our aeons together.
Each moment fleeting, and passing by.
The wind whispers, and the creatures rumble
weeping for me the unfair weather I hold
Only the dry seasons and the rainy seasons come by
and the sky, he's always done what he's always told.
When he cries, he creates floods and storms
or peaceful drizzles and ditz so plain
and when's angered, he takes right up
the moistened land and then grants me pain.
At night, he's terribly beautiful and quiet
the stars twinkle like stickers on my attic
The silent love, and the prolonged memories
and what he holds, goes far beyond semantics.
I sung, "Precious sky, I am your earth
the land you watch with clouds and dew."
And he replied, "Pretty land, you are my purpose
and there's nothing to take me from you."
