While our sun was grey,
They mimed us to the point of stoic sage
Our faces still, set to rescind the day
Yet, we still botch to an affirmative page.
While our sun was grey,
Our gaze was affixed to a flummoxed icon
Making us an apparition in a way; the way of no return
Our dominant domain owned like paraphernalia
While our sun was grey,
We were erstwhile in a bland bay
They left us to wander like a Bedouin
We were sanctions of creedal movement
While our sun was grey,
They were sentinels with a tinge of laity
We rode on tandems without navigation
They looked leer while we were iconoclastic
While our sun was grey,
Our fate was envisaged in a lieu mirage
We were proletariats to their own imagination
We illuminated talks but it was amorphous to their guts.
