The dawn of change is taking a drink with me.
Tendrils of passion bud within this sepulcher
Where we had our first spark
It’s like fire.
It’s light and salt.
Fiery, my generation stands on the verge of injustice and demand a newness.
They’re writing their requests on the sheets of their voice.
Liquid fire and songs penetrate the atmosphere of their demands.
Anger flows on the mount of passion.
Like Zeus’ arrows we are driven to carry out an objective. With precision.
Mighty men of valor tired of sheathing our voices at the sight of arms
That silenced our fathers in the dawn of their adolescence
And violence that tistled our crops and fields
has grown fruit in the silence of our father’s tears
The protests of puppies are emissaries to validate this cause
For the milk of the poppy has seized to work
Like light in plain fields, we play in the dusk of our pain
Butterflies in trapped glasses, our songs quenched.
But no more.
In this land, showers of hope run untethered in the loins of the young
We shall take it!
We shall free our motherland!
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