You shall eat with us on the high table,

A place where your voices shall be heard,

A hush dream where your dreams will take a flight,

A place reserved where stars align our voices weaving verses so divine.

Yet our cries still persist, our hearts bleeding,

And still no remorse.

Don't worry "rustic progeny" we will wipe down our tears and yearn for better embrace

 

Nuisances in their eyes,

our efforts familiar with the nuance of a sloth

We thought the grunds of the norms we'll save us,

Weaker we've become, hopes shuttered,

Dreams are now an abyss of oblivion.

But don't worry "rustic progeny" we'll wipe down our tears and yearn for better embrace

 

The power of our voices will save us,

a stepping stone to grace,

Our solidarity we'll unburden the cries amidst our hearts.

Your dreams, my dreams a leeway for prosperity.

Don't worry "rustic progeny" we'll wipe down our tears and be the embraced.