In the land of pure
Hundreds of thousands cry
Hoping for a cure
While dozens everyday die
The dead bodies wait,
Beside their loved ones,
Who question the fate
Of their murdered sons
Meanwhile, their king stays
In his blood soaked bed
And passes his days
Well protected, well fed
But it is my Lord
In whom I place my hope
Who lends his sword
Those who hold tight his rope
I dedicate this to all those killed in Pakistan in the last few years for no fault of theirs - especially my Shia brothers and all other voiceless citizens of our country.
