Wounded Eagles
When a Vulture is king
How can the Eagles tear the sky of Stars?
When the hairs of green fields wears the crowns of the red earth
How can the white cloud smiles woo the raising sun?
Come home ye wounded eagles
Rus-here to the banks of red springs
That chunder roars of broken voices from the young rocks of plateau
Rus-here and see the scores of heads
That bedragged into the blind nets of hades
We can't be hyenas of two voices
Singing medleys of crying laughters
Let's howl for the hundred of merciless goals we conceded on this red fields of Mourners stadium
Than the two goals we messi-less got in the airy greens of the whites
For the golds we chased after the white wind
Can never replace the moribund of dreams we buried....
And victory can never crown the head of an innocent child
Whose father's tongue is an open graveyard
Where vampires and owls hust their bloody feasts....
So Rush-here, in our cobbled songs
let's mourn for those dent golds
that were smeared in pool of their drooling lights
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From @israelshedi