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Stuck up in the past,

Buried in ideals centuries old,

Moving forward but staying back,

Living the life of a cultured fool,

Of religious roots with no ideals,

Lost in traditions lost in themselves,

Speaking the sweet deceitful language of the past,

Of forefathers long forgotten,

So long lost that we just call them forefathers,

Soaking up the dirty stench of the mother land,

But the mother land has left,

She is no longer the greenest green,

Or the darkest dirt,

She is empty,

Built into her are cement bricks,

Adopting ideas passed down from generations,

New ideas are gone only past time,

Lost.