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This Farm Will End Up in Fire
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You're a storm of secret bombs Falling noiseless from the clouds On this land of trees and farms Growing slowly in the sand Sounds of prayers, sacrifice Incense burning in a pipe Design of God in coded works Dogs are yelling at the sun Trees start to bleed, clouds turn to coal Night seems to talk to every wall Weeping up the crowd a wave of sounds Scared everyone Hovering slowly in the vines See them suffer when they smile Everyday they feel the same Kids are running out of time Organ pipes made of bones Growing slowly in the ground A noise is coming down A fear made of pain

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