Dry and brittle, a creation dost thirst.

Set against the background of desert,

From the birth of time, a making cursed.

Forced to find sustenance from the dirt.

Oh, how the sweet gentle rain would flow,

Soaking deep into the very soul.

The easing of each hardship and woe

To calm the very hard to console.

What keeps the moisture of life at bay,

Leaving the being in a dry state?

With brittle leaves held jointly to pray,

The sweet surrender they will await.

Oh, dry and brittle, a creation thirsts.

From the birth of time, a making cursed.