Rejoice my love, for 'tis time to sharpen the sickle
The Punjabis are dancing their colorful Bhangra
Kashmiris enjoy a last game of cricket on the Dal
The Tamils are boiling their sweet savoury Pongal
The beautiful Malayali girls are plucking flowers
The fiery chariot drawn by seven horses blazes across
The sickle is sharp now, my Love!
'tis time to harvest our souls, for crops we have none
Death's embrace do we seek, kiss me one last time!
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