Beneath a sweltering sun
Amid the fanatical shun
The berry fields give forth their bounty of hate.
Locked away from her children
At the mercy of submission’s men
Asia suffers for the ghosts of ideology.
Through my good days and bad
Though I’ve been happy and sad
I’ve never had a thirst that put my life at risk.
Every prophet and saint
Carries the same taint
Bloodlust and politics to force their authority.