(The song is dedicated for conflict in Sudan)

Where the Nile bends and the earth is red,
They built their homes, they broke their bread.
Beneath the tall acacia's grace,
A quiet life, a gentle pace.
Their only currency, the rising sun,
Their day's hard labor, humbly done.
They held no silver, sought no gold, Just simple stories, softly told.

The wind that sweeps the barren sand,
Carries the grief of a wounded land.
They held no malice, bore no blame,
The poor, the harmless, called by name.
A silent harvest, reaped by steel,
A stolen future, wounds that won't heal.
The sky grew dark, the laughter flown,
The innocent were overthrown.

A child’s soft gaze, a mother’s prayer,
Were scattered on the heavy air.
Their songs were of the rain and grain,
They never learned the speech of pain.
They walked the dust with open hands,
Not knowing lines drawn in the sands.
They had no part in brutal games,
Just fragile lives consumed by flames.

The wind that sweeps the barren sand,
Carries the grief of a wounded land.
They held no malice, bore no blame,
The poor, the harmless, called by name.
A silent harvest, reaped by steel,
A stolen future, wounds that won't heal.
The sky grew dark, the laughter flown,
The innocent were overthrown.

The world was loud, but their pleas were low,
A whisper only sorrows know.
Their poverty, their only "sin,"
To be the ones the shadows win.
No armor wore, no sword they drew,
For a war they never even knew.

Oh, the wind that sweeps the barren sand,
Carries the grief of a wounded land.
They held no malice, bore no blame,
The poor, the harmless, called by name.
A silent harvest, reaped by steel,
A stolen future, wounds that won't heal.
The sky grew dark, the laughter flown,
The innocent were overthrown.

The sun still sets.
The river flows.
But where the blameless spirit goes.
The dust remembers. The dust knows.