Why do I sit idle,
Observing destruction
With keen eyes,
And let life slip by?
Water, it slips through
Fingers like Her.
Thirst is never quenched,
Just satiated for moments.
Dehydrated, mad with lust.
It is a sickness!
You can't posses
The clouds, nor the sea.
We sit amongst the people
Who lament in rage,
"How can we be free
When we are slaves?"
It hasn't rain in months,
Just teased by drizzle
Here and there,
Leaving our lips parched.
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