This is a wasteland
No water at all
Empty skies above us
Below, nowhere to fall
Oh zanja madre
Oh zanja madre
We will build our homes here
From the dust and stone
Grow flowers in the desert
And roses out of bone
Oh zanja madre
Oh zanja madre
No water at all
Empty skies above us
Below, nowhere to fall
Oh zanja madre
Oh zanja madre
We will build our homes here
From the dust and stone
Grow flowers in the desert
And roses out of bone
Oh zanja madre
Oh zanja madre
( Brahms' Third Racket )
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