NO GUNS THUMPED

Summon not the wind to thy voices
Nor the cold weather to thy croaks

But in thy own, blossom
Huts we calmly sit under as Som.
Until reverend peace accepts us in her bosom
Understanding, love, and unity among her concomitants we comb

We shall uphold our own beautiful days
And read our claims
To the high orders and older generations
To watch and as trails
Good morals
Good morals and boost morale’s

For this now thumps
To cause our homes clumps