You demand to bustle up; you were told the armed-fighting should end, but it cleaves going from day to day, and you forget to smile and can’t enact you are surrounded by suicidal, and you keep waiting for someone to crux; the towns and villages are ruined at their thrust, as are your hearts and souls, you ignore that every door has its own unique lock.

You dream to glide like a dove, our contests, the clouds etch flowers into the land, so peace prevails; we are the bloods of the light who pine for the sun; do not cleft our craving angst of the dark.

Furthermore, you still believe in a glad heads or tails, where you will abide in cooperation love ; you'll not remit those who draw a blank fallen; your opposer is everyone outdoor and the ozone they inhale out; you weren't handy for this fight alone; you sign in gently and count each passing breath; my body is barren, but my soul hurts.

Not only that, but you thought it was a dream, but it happened to be honest to God; the distress the bloodshed and overwhelming dismay, I want it all to go away dilate in the shining sun and troubles blown from your day by chummy pitfalls, so far you want people out of cellars.

Your war has affected our survival, our lives, and our culture; the war took away your family, neighbors, and friends; you wish the conflict would end, and more children could enjoy their childhood and family relief.

You live on life there is not much euphoria due to fear: Oh the Almighty, there is so much pain, very bantam to rave; your home is set alight and searing like the autumn leaves; the attractive trees burnt, the red flowers scorched, it's only grief.

You look at the screen bombing and destruction; you see births sleeping in tents they lost the cuddle and stability of their parents; you divine offsprings who are as skinny as ghosts: You peg schools and parks empty of children activity.

Likewise, you know, there is so much throb, very little to cheer; the outcome of the war is cataclysmic, sad, and full of awful prospects; many have lost their lives, many wounded and many left with prejudices: Oh the Creator, there is so much twinge, very little to laud, square cotton to tranquility.