Ìràpadà

Ìràpadà
The stones we throw at our own glass houses, the cracks we install on our fortresses.
The seeds we plant, the trees we fell
The waters we drink from, the rivers we fetch dry
The soil we till, the earth we dig
The gods we revere, our sins yet cornucopia.



Ìràpadà
The sins of the father, the lives of the son
The fruit of our farms, the produce of the earth
The rot of our feed, the finish of our barns
The desolation of our homes, the draught of our lands
The hunger of our souls, the starvation in our hearts

Ìràpadà
The we have sinned and turned against the laws of redemption
That we have failed and smite the heart of hope with an anvil of ignorance
That we have fought and lost against the elements of justice and balance
That we have come and gone like the mortals we are and the fate of a night light

Ìràpadà
From here to where
From where did we get here?
To whom it may offend
To whom we may depend
Our redemption, the reflection of our shattered hopes and dreams
To all who may refuse, redeem our existence.

Fidara