The life, the blood, the endless stream of love.
What else did I have, what else could I give.
With the farmer's hand, hardened with toil
I planted this land, once fertile, now barren.

The question 'what if' still torments me.
And a part looks back, into the past bygone.
Yet, one part races right ahead, it says
No more; no more could I have given.

No more a life to be judged, persecuted.
No more a life lived in shame, in fear.
No more anger, no more love, joy;
No more will these eyes carry tears.