Echoes of the past whisper gently around,
Bold whirls of the present will surround.
Voices change from season to season.
Usually they speak without reason.
As time blows by, so does the wind.
Not knowing the language, they send.
We have no other choice but to defend.
Neither do we know what it could bend.
Many languages are spoken around us still.
Like the speed of the wind, we can feel.
No obligation to trim or narrow the gap,
We create another one known as rap.
We cherish our heritage and that is great.
Remember your past; navigate the gate.
Choose one voice or language to send.
Lose the many voices, chasing the wind.