You, wander through the fields,
Your, sorrow as I advocate the depression,
Stumble into the hardened earth
And become engulfed by the seeds of plague,
The sky submits to the colour purple,
Descending from above,
The holy ghost, does their saviour seem holy?
A black spectre is sent downwards instead,
Lowered downwards into damned soil,
Peasants mourn their own plagued death,
The shephard of the unwanted valley,
Turning black and purple,
His spirit bows down,
Dark waters streaming down a precipice,
