What if effort does not translate into harvest!?
We fought so long,
we fought so hard,
but the green mean fighting machines snitched it from right under our noses in the end.

Water from the eyes drowned the salt from their sweat.
what if effort does not translate to harvest!?

There was yellow in the field every day of the week, every week of all those months.
I daren't say I know,
but I saw yellow in the field even after the Victorian's anthem had been sung twice.
Once before 4.45,
once more 95 min later.
Was there no sweat
and blood
and tears?

They felt it, and we felt it too,
the flood of emotions, then the flood of tears...
Red saw yellow every one of those 4.45 afternoons.
Yet who were we to say we understood?

You don't need to understand emotion to feel it.