The river tells a tale of wives that bury their children underwater.
The magistrate plots a scheme along it's banks.
The river runs red with the blood of the corpses.
While stalks grow along it's shores.

The river runs dry from the population that drinks it up like a parasite.
And people always wonder why there's nothing left for the other side.
How do we believe what they tell us?
How do we believe all the lies?

Well I don't.

The river tells a tale of the husbands that go to war.
While women grow the crops and wait.
But the men are dead and no letters are coming home.
The government throws the bodies into the water,
Watches them drown.

Lives are held on the power supply,
And the dam is broken down.
All those men piled in the water,
And yet they wonder how.
The river backs up and the floods the land.
All the crops are gone now.

And so, that's the story of the children on the bottom.
Where wives meet their husbands once again.
The drowned out and underwater.
The magistrate lies that there wasn't anything there anyhow.