Dryness of the Time

It’s the time that’s ticking,

It’s the life that’s living,

It’s the innocent that they’re killing,

It’s the bad things that they're committing.

There’s the darkness of the well,

But the fire stings like Hell,

The water make anything better,

The flowers now smell like heather.

The dust is dry,

Like rock on the Moon,

More like a desert, 

Just like the sand.

The rain comes back,

And causes the liveliness to slack : it’s back.