The ancient Sumerians carved battle records onto stone tablets
A timetable of our war history, towards powerful men calling themself lords.
Trembling, stumbling, jumping and killing people to claim their land.
And sticks with sharp stone at hand. Planned and in command to get their land.

This land is mine, And I’ll not let you rule.
Even If I shall be cruel.
I’ll navigate and demand
Just as long as you know, this land is mine.
So go back and find your home and settle in.

The sea eats the land at home.
The sea left only the bones.
Cause history is written by Victors.
No pictures, no people, no more people at home.
At home, the sea is in town.
The sea stuck around and didn’t back down.

Tho’ Just a man
Not more or less than others.
With a ticking clock, and someday the battery will drain.
And will be left like a stain on the T-shirt.
A speck of dust stuffed with rust just brushed.
Either living in breezy pawn with coconut or in the hot desert.

The ancient Egyptians carved into the history
A timetable of our war history, towards powerful men calling themself lords.
Trembling, stumbling, jumping and killing people to claim their land.
Bows and arrows hitting men in the bonemarrow. Keeping them frustrated and stung.

Save that loose heap of bleached bones, that lie
Where haply some poor Bedouin crawled to die.
Lo! While I gaze, beyond the vast sand-sea
The nebulous clouds are downward slowly drawn,
And one bleared star, faint glimmering like a bee,
Is shut in the rosy outstretched hand of dawn.
The downfall has left the sea come through.

Tho’ Just a man
Not more or less than others.
With a ticking clock, and someday the battery will drain.
And will be left like a stain on the T-shirt.
A speck of dust stuffed with rust just got brushed.
Either living in breezy pawn with coconut or in the hot desert.

The old Romans carved into the storybooks,
A timetable of our war history, towards powerful men calling themself lords.
And making a religion toward the proclaimed “lord”
A real lord doesn’t die.
Trembling, stumbling, jumping and killing people to claim their land.
Heavy armour and swords swirling like a rope.
And making entertainment out of it.

This land is mine, And I’ll not let you rule.
Even If I shall be cruel.
I’ll navigate and demand
Just as long as you know, this land is mine.
So go back and find your home and settle in.

Not hearing, not sharing
Not having mercy,
Which they experienced at last.
When the barbarian invasion came
With waste more of men, only their for the land.

The sea eats the land at home.
The sea left only the bones.
Cause history is written by Victors.
No pictures, no more people at home.
At home, the sea is in town.
The sea stuck around and didn’t back down.

The world is like a thousands of shattered glass,
Which powerful men calling themself lords are chasing.
With every generation more deadly of mass destruction.
More time and money spent on the sea.
Now Faqqua iris says to cyclamen, give me my land back.
This sea is a slow virus giving everyone a taste of revenge
If not cured it may kill the body of land on earth,
And all sea will be deprived into the dust of particles in space.
Just like that the sea is erased.