And there we stood,
Alone in our own desolation,
The burning sands of time beneath our own feet,
Unaware and unyielding to our own destination;

And above our heads,
Circling vultures cried for blood and life,
And from the harsh sun and our predator,
There was no escape, no way to cry nor hide from our own strife;

And across the lands we did pass,
Our children sobbing and our wives pleading,
Our poets dreamed,
But of a goal, our leaders none could see;

But now we stand,
Above the floor of time,
No enemies to be seen,
And our own memories time out of mind;

And across the wasteland of our path,
The wind still drearily blows,
And carried on its wings of land's breath,
Flow forever the names of our own...