Dina: Gopa, the heavens weep a rain
And angry Indra doth hurl his bolts
The winds do howl, a mournful, eerie sound
As Nature's fury lashes the earth

Gopa: Aye, Dina the earth quakes and groans
Overthrowing the world itself
The rivers swell, they cannot hold their banks
Muddy molds form on the then greens

Dina: When will the land be steer of devastation?

When will peace return, and the skies clear?

 Gopa: In time, my friend, in time
The sun will rise and paint the morning skies
Till then, let's hope and pray to almighty
Beneath this oak, from all our mortal fear.