Moving in the wind,
the full fabric moves
in this ancient place.
Burning heat sears all,
as the sun burns down
upon this arid land.
Colours of the Earth,
different burnt colours,
not shades to dispute.
No European delicacies
need to remain here,
for the sun burns it all.
Singing moves on the wind,
an ancient song forbidden
to pay tribute to this land.
C & K 