Was there fear in Artica

when blue stone turned to grey?

Was there love in Grecia

when the blood began to play?

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Was there grace in Artica

when candlelight was mist?

Was there faith in Grecia

when wax and granite kissed?

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Will there be life in Artica

when perfect rain is dry?

Will there be hope in Grecia

when the glass begins to cry?

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Yes, there is peace in Artica,

for that is why it stands.

But, there are none in Grecia

who hold forth marbled hands.

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