The dawn breaks with the music of Pena
and the voice follows haunting the valley
"an ode to our rich culture and tradition"
and the corrupt sky cries its tears upon my tin roof
but who can stop the sun rising
And I wonder
what that little angel must be doing
she must be sleeping?
Has she chaged her torn clothes?
did they give her dinner?
Do they love her enough
not to make me love her?
I don't know
But let this rain be the tears
that she will shed in future