Each hill and soil here you are
worried but no more than afraid
why does your mouth keep on wounding?
vile and thirsty and hungry of peace
like bread and water your soil is fed
to the scared no one eats it anymore
for lack of light and least a moment
we gather to pray amidst golden petals
brass, steel hard to the bones
everyone is ready for the choice
death not noble nor purposeful but then
a bride of fear a groom to soil
there you hear of Zamboanga like a land
no one shall ever understand
your doors are so closed no one peeps
at your fate anymore
but your lips are pursed and bruised
