All is one in the eyes of the most high;


there is no division in the eyes of the eternal, there

is no boundary born of sand.


The lust of eternity shines in the eyes of the foolish,

the men in love with their hands, mighty

yet scorched with the flames of the unrighteous.


This land is free; all land is free.


All is one in the eyes

of the most high,


the power of knowing winds

draw chaos from the sand,

the primordial broth of nations

rises; water cascades on


the breathless empires,

wasted and unashamed,


whose repentence for death

is death, drying dreams

brought to the living

by burning embers,


the cool of the shade hiding

the faces of the wealthy cowards,

the men of science.


The roots will once again grow great:

the roots will tumble through the

sewer grates, the homes

of the restless vermin

rising to the seat of the righteous


and basking in the glow of freedom

as the foolish breezes carry

songs of homelands


now demolished, their flags

flowing null.