What then is this? To live for so long in an arid and wind swept land. The sun baked soil cracks and grass snaps dead beneath our boots as we march off to war. They're hearts beat slowly.
What then is this? Would it be the tears of mourners? The land has been dry for too long. They who march have thought they were forgotten.
What then is this? There's a storm in the hearts of those of mourn. Their tears will fill the oceans.
As they march...they look skyward...and they will not see the storm...they will see hope.
~ Rick Sforza 2009 ~