Dry are the tears of those who weep the most,
their costs and losses which are long lost,
some may seem them, but some may not.
Fear not my child, all is not lost.
Centuries of dust, gravel and smoke,
cannot be covered by one single cloak,
burnt and black is an old chinese wok,
but one doesn't know the heat it took.
Wild are the animals that they encountered,
who did deeds which are unaccounted,
to build and develop, what for them is sacred,
they are from those who lead and are not bounded.
Lives taken, lives bought,
none of which are caught,
come one day when they are given a thought,
bitter will be the lessons which were not taught.
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