Our pain never subsides in this Valley.
It has the distinction of coming daily.
Our souls are marked with deep scars.
In a peaceful atmosphere, we have wars.

The houses are looked for destruction
Because there is no need of construction.
Our every voice is choked in the throat.
The beautiful things are to rot.

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There were the songs of hope
But now, we are hanged by a common rope.
The only thing that works is death.
The dead are living without breath.

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SHATTERED INNOCENCE

Graveyards are to be filled with the living.
The emotions are to be given a swing.
Mothers hate to be mothers.
They look out to be others.

Flowers bloom for coffins.
Fishes live without fins.
Spring brings sadness.
Autumn is responsible for our madness.

Life is full of pain.
There is nothing to gain.
Let us pledge to die very soon.
Pain is synonymous with moan.

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