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The sky weeps
And we’re all oblivious
For the wolves drink the wine
Whilst the sheep seek lush pastures in bush fires.
No words are said just howling in the distance
The ritual of of the black knight begins
For his tongue is made of vipers
His prowess is of cold steel
Yet his spirit is dead and knows no remorse
The sky speaks yet no one understands
And the pure of heart gave up up on their demands.
Thunder strikes and smiths the wrong
An avenging wave of notes into song
So cast your faith into the fire
Rise up and seek what you admire
for nation build on pillars of sand
Cannot withstand the weight of the land
Copyright © Peter Paul Valletta | Year Posted 2020
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