With the tap empty and wells crying for rain,
with homes torn apart and house filled with people.
Hear the cocks crow , listen to the birds chips,
hear the voice of these doors slam with anger.
Spacious particles of the wind, fills the room uninvited,
making ways between rusted metal bars.
Screaming freedom to bruise and pain,
face of the innocent and guilty like a sinking ship,
getting drunk of guilt and worries.
Our freedom is in shackles while the law chuckles.
the sword of justice is blunt to trees made of money,
thereby sharpen edges to bring down weak mahogany.
We've only dreamed of when this loose ends will buckle.
We wait for the rain in pain, may justice be served precisely.
In sorrow, the innocent holds rusted prison bars.
