The world is a song,
And I am its mouth,
My skin is the borders,
You can trace each country with every bend of limb,
As I dance, the orbit begins,
I still follow the moon in my worship as a wolf,
My hair is the forests,
Wildly growing, unharmed, untamed,
The bruises are the wars,
Wounded, dark and deep,
My eyes are the cosmos,
There are stars littered inside them,
My feet are the warriors who fought,
The blood from the lost lives,
My ancestors are my spine,
Holding me up when I am shattered,
My tears are the water that the earth contains,
The weeping is for Mother Earth,
How she was abused and destroyed,
In the name of Paper.
Then there are those,
Who can hear the hymns from the Seventh Heaven,
Sung in the hearts of Believers,
The Spirit alive,
Those who can love,
Without deceiving,
unconditional love,
With no deceit,
The Romantics will live.