- cifra
The day the four horsemen ride, the black soil will turn red.
The oasis will turn to mud, and grass will grow on my face.
Gardeners will be unemployed in the desert of lawnmowers
Mum, what have they done to you?
I can't even return to you.
They've taken everything and gave you nothing in return
the hill I used to stand on 's disapperad in the rubbush.
And tell me how much longer can you take it before we finally break you.
Raping your belly!
Killing your children!
Crushing your hopes and ours!
I am an orphan of the earth... the earth I lay upon.
