Plundered Paradise

Only if the clouds could know, what happened in the plundered paradise - of the nice things what once was there.   Only if the rain could show us apart - a man of virtue from another of vice, and we could lay our soul bare.    



The mountain echoed- The gunshots fired the night before, Through the valley bellow. Air, that once brushed pass - And whistled through the valley, Now is heavy with gunpowder; Slowly suffocating all that once lived. The girl who went missing - The week before, has finally returned home, And is resting in her yard, wrapped;… Continue reading Echo