These fields a cemetery as far as eye can see,there they born,there they died.
Eye's that don't cry can't see the world,and the dead open the eyes of the living.
There is no bad bread with a good hunger,he who eats his fill, soon he will fast.
Memories doesn't wish to be erased is etched into the brain as tatoos.
Some goes up others goes down thus the world moves.
The accused ascends to the high throne,the shepherds descend to the deep valley.
A hundred steps forward, but hundred years back
Our dead our shadows our flowers.
