The self-decline bastion of human rights, rises above,

But gravity makes angels fall,

They chased  Lilith out of  pardes

Arguments for killing of one another’s kin,

She here white money whispering about a could, dead and flemming goal

In the end we might be hurte 

and after hurte there is healing 

Red shines from the sorrow of oppression

She sharpen care and connection as a weapon