Wasted Humanitarian Knowledge

Rock us boys, on your flat tops, Shake us girls, in your weeping womb, Take us both, to drill your hard shell, Investigate us from where we could escape, Eyes are popped out in ecstatic sprint, Whether the martyr convocation is done, Or not, collapsing of those humble dreams, Dreamed under the olive trees barren bosoms, Dates are there yet to ripe, to rewrite the events, Enemies are heaped in dune, totally not bonded, Fall down as a single grain, need to be greased, our eyes are not flawed, when millions drown in tears.