"It's Not An Art, It's A Myth" کے بول

Ghastly this place has become Once a sacred place of old, beautiful and tranquil This unnatural disease has left your limbs bare No room to breathe, no chance to give The wind like waves buries the land It hurts to know that you’re no longer full of life and dancing No color, no emotion The raspy shrill of agony is heard by no one These bare trees bear no fruit