Rivers of belief flow through the valleys,
Carving canyons into idols throughout the centuries.
Shorelines recede; mountains are sculpted by the breeze.

Landscape is the canvas; weather and ambiance are the artists.

Though the sands of time may slip through narrow glass,

One true bliss is found as you are cleansed.

Rain falls upon the world and purges you of vices,

Revealing inner virtue by scraping off disguises.
Pages are torn from the book of your existence,
But on these purifying scripts, stories of sanction are written.


Though the sands of time may slip through narrow glass,
One true bliss is found as you are cleansed.


Jewels lie inside the shells, deep beneath the carapace.
Harmony dwells deep beneath the bark of the world.