The fathers A heart so wicked Desperately wicked! They cut the young glory from rising Destroy those they pleased Made suffer the orphan Deprive the widow Led the blind to pit Give the dumb to mockery Hammer nail on the deaf hear Pursue lame to run Torment the poor The lived in joy of this wickedness It gladdens their hearts They drink to it. Who  can catch us The gods are far off The men won't dare And so they planted a vine yard And of it Their ending no one can pray for It does not end their
The children The wind of cry Then and now The land suddenly dry. No food, no water Hunger, death Other time, the rain fall The plants yields Hope giving blessed harvest But the locust came, devour all Burden on the shoulder Yoke on the neck That land is sick The people are diseased They never rest of trouble Their teeth ache
Oh what have we done The gods have forsaken us, Hummm! But your father ate the grape Your teeth must ache Though they sleep, there works live on. No one truly dies The soul live on So also the work that make them while here. The spirit of the founding fathers tormenting the land. Mercy may turn thing if the children in themselves will turn
                   OMÓJUWÚRÀ from www.wukes..com