THE CALIPHATE

(i)

Purified,

The home of infinity lands

And entangled sands

Carried by angry winds.

We are gathered here to seat,

Call it fate.

For the grounds are aflame

That our feet are scorched.

Hush!

For we laugh,

We play,

We sing and we dance here in this steepe.

For serenity lives here,

And hidden diamonds too.

So kow-tow!

(ii)

Pow! Pow! Pow!

This gunshot is our alarm,

Our friend and our calvary.

We anticipate it.

Pocka! Pocka! Pocka!

This gunshot is our trouble,

Our enemy and our frustration.

We fear it.

It is not our fault

That we now know the language of bullets.

We are gathered here to seat,

Call it fate.

Quiet,

For at the gunshot,

We don't think,

We don't sleep,

We cling tightly to life,

Striving to never let go.

(iii)

We are safe...

Save safe!

We are safe from light fingers,

And dark lips with heavy captions.

We are a unit in unity,

Unified by mother tongue.

You call it fate,

And we accept,

For we know not how to deny ourselves.

We are the primitive ones without the problems of the civilized...

We are the simple...

And we are the controlled.

(iv)

"Hang her! Hang her!"

This is the music from our soul.

Let's sing a song of fury...

And nature takes the lead.

When the quaver of the wind is extreme,

And the breve of the sun is intense.

What is left of us

But to follow suit.

For once the finger touches the trigger,

Shoot it must.

Justice is wild,

Ask the law- it knows no forgiveness.

"Hang her! Hang her!",

Our soul yearns,

For this is its satisfaction.

#El_Magnifico™