Dry, dry, dry.
Hopes are dying, pain is killing.
Homes are destroyed, fear is haunting.
Wet, wet, wet.
Our eyes are wet, but death do not wait.
For what do we regret? When we are the target.
Children died, for there was no food.
We are weakened, for there was less water.
We run, we escape, from this bloodied earth.
But when we reach the other side,
They push us back.
Tears of the Sands, flown by the wind.
We just want to be saved from the M-16.
Bullets have no eyes, for they hit anyone on the way.
Let us in.