They are questioning my vitality,
When they are the one who should be frowned upon.
I being the master of the colour,
They are made up of!
Carries superior sovereignty.
They put their dirty hands upon on me,
Of the colour from which sky is made of,
I’m the emperor of the realm,
The atmosphere can’t fantasies,
I’m the creator of the imaginations.
Touch me if you want the essence,
Of the mud, the rain wilderness.
Bury your souls within me,
I’ll carry your carcass in my shack.
See me and you’ll be volatile,
I’ll be the leaves of autumn.
Recline next to me, I’ll be the shadow in summer.
Whimper away from me,
my warmth does get accused,
I’m the flame carrying tenderness of a mother.