Us desires awe suffering being

 

Species afraid mute truth

 

Survival them soul learn teacher

 

Levants endless moan

How long, O Grave? How long shall sorrows creep, while ancient promises no longer keep?

From buried dust, a mournful sigh takes flight, ascending slow to stars that gleam at night.

Behold the Canaanite, once free and bold, whose vital stories now remain untold.

The Sea Peoples came, with deeds of pain, and Israel's tribes did cruelly take and gain.

How is it, O Land, that thy stones groan for vibrant cultures, vanished and alone?

Weep, O Shores! Where Philistia's banner swayed, then Assyria's dread hand, a brutal blade.

Their spirit broken, their deep essence frayed, a people swallowed, by cold doom betrayed.

Then Aramean tongues, once vibrant, clear, now moan like phantoms, whispering despair,

As Assyrian legions tore their living phase. How long, O World, these bitter, endless days?

Wail, O Deserts! For the tribes that ceased to be, from Edom, Moab, Ammon, hear their plea.

Babylon's fierce might, so grim and grand, swept through them all, across the wasted land.

Then Nabataea's art, from rose-red stone, was crushed by Rome, and left to grieve alone.

And Byzantine's bright cross, in ancient lands did gleam, consumed by Arab armies, like a dream.

Then came the Crusaders, with steel and holy plea, a tide of strangers from across the sea.

They built their castles, for a fleeting stay, then vanished, leaving ghosts along the way.

How long, O Heavens, shall this bitter cup be pressed to lips, for generations to sup?

Lo! In this hour, upon this weary ground, the mournful echoes of the past resound.

The cries of peoples, from their ancient pain, ascend to heavens, for a peace to gain.

For ceaseless strife, and hearts that know no ease, perpetuate the horrors through the breeze.

Revenge on vengeance, blood for blood they seek, a cycle endless, mournful, and bleak.

How long, O Spirit, shall this terror reign? This land, O Lord, endures unending pain.

Lost ruler them anything

 

Automations Echo

Used to be the co-op, hired every hand in sight,

Now combines roll themselves, workin' day and night.

Folks ain't earned much but the sting of hard-won truth,

And Friday nights at the bar, lost the fire of youth.

From the bottle's sorrow, a soul's mournful plea,

To a rumble and a bang, for all the world to see.

The old songs whispered, 'bout the demons in your head,

Now it's just "vroom" and "boom," and the old ways are dead.

Dream conditions reality construct