I saw again
The landscape arid and dry
Blooming sand dunes before my eye
I saw the pain
On the pyramids' face
Saw the hunt and decapitation of the race
Only those chosen can ever stand
Long enough to crumble in the sand.
The chosen are so few
And so other in their point of view,
Who can trust their mimicry still
Like birds in their forest they will
Sing and sing
But not for us the puff of wing.
What bird would we choose
Who have been brothers to the lions
Who have drank the tiger's milk?
These two fear nor hawk, nor eagle
I see them stretched out on the sands
Pouring eternity through their hands
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