How long will the beings living,
pretend to be dead and gone?
What will it take for surviving,
priceless things for all and one?
Myth of the past is myth no more,
days of despair, pain and sore.
Hope, glory and eternal light,
a reward for the evil we fight.
When will the memories rise,
of yesteryear's joy and surprise?
How long will we avoid the tears,
of an innocent full of fears?
Prasenjit©1997-2011
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