A gentleman once so content and happy
in Srilanka
Returned home, heart filled with dreams of 'old Lanka',
Like a morning dew drop upon a mountain,
His dreams of a paradise: melts down like a fountain,.
Where is the land of my dream: that gave me inheritance, and a decent
life?,
It is soaked in blood, and crumbling down distraught,
Oh! I put gold in their plate to destroy my inherited motherland,
Don't, I feel guilty? for I have blood in my hands,.
Winds still blow but souls lay bare,
The rivers flow in silence with stories to scare
Gunshots have pierced the heart of this land
Don't I feel guilty? For I have blood in my hand
Claiming asylum in a faraway land
Work day and night sweating thy hands
A generation here has perished with nothing to spare
I put gold in their plate to buy weapons to bleed and scare
I live in luxury with carpets under my
feet to warm,
My head is on a feather pillow with dreams so calm,
No gunshots to wake up from my sweet slumber,
Everything for my kids, to grow big with freedom to wonder
While north and east bleed with my 'claymore' thunder
Blood flows through generations for my'Elam'hunger
Am I not guilty, for I have blood in my hand?
Don't I, feel guilty for the shattered dreams of our inherited land?
God Forgive me, for I have sinned,
God forgive my children, for my great sins
If there is any space in your Bleeding heart,
Forgive us mother Lanka, for not having gratitude in our hearts.
I still feel guilty for the crimes we create,
God forgive our children. For the crimes, we make.
Because I feel guilty, for the murders we initiate,
Then again, they are only "Monumental Tragedies" if can
forget
But, don't I feel guilty for death, and destruction we initiate?
