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The air is heavy with the sweet, musky smell of disturbed earth and grass.
Broken trees, broken graves, laid bare by a great yellow monster; that does the work of itís masters.

A giant snake line of destruction weaves its way through the sacred valley; a monument to manís sacrilege and greed.

A lament stirs deep in my womb filling me with the cry of the earth and the tears of my ancestors.
A lament that is carried on a fairy wind, to land on Tara hill.

On Taraís hill I bow to the earth who holds us all in her embrace,
I bow to the ancestors in whose footsteps we walk,

I bow to the truth that lies deep within every human heart.

I, as a witness, see all this.

   Kranti Macken 2008

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