The parched land panted

Only to be drenched

But the holy soul

Receives nothing but a fall.

The very fall that no one desires

Still it encompasses heirs

Building castles in air

Till the world becomes unfair.

The triggering unfairness rules

Spilling all over with blues

Ruining all with hues

That darkened souls.

Souls cry out loud for freedom

Under the mercy of theorem

Over the moor lay in stillness

The crying soul in hope of freeness.