Everything will be remembered, remember that, my king.
Every bit and piece will remain etched forever.
You bring the darkest nights we will paint the brightest morning,
You write poems of bars and prisons, the hell freezes over your coldest jails;
Our stories will be engraved on those very cell walls.
You write the warrants, we will march;
Kill us, and our ghosts will haunt you forever.
You sit on your ivory tower. You make a mockery of your justice.
We will indict you. On every street, nook, and cranny. We are the people.
Our songs are the truest of them all. Written with our blood.
We will sing them loud. So loud it will pierce your impregnable deafness.
The deaf will hear our song, the blind will see the light.
You look down and write the stories of the chain. Look up, you traitor.
See the red dawn, the sun rises above your horizon. Your time is over.
Your tallest buildings and grandest lights have come down, the walls of your ornate garden have faded away;
We were there.
Your bullets have murdered us. Your pellets have blinded our people.
We will not forget them. We will remember the fight, the laughter, the vows.
Our throats will burn but we will sing at our loudest.
We will sing until we avenge them. Time after time. Until the end of it.
The nights were cold and dark, we slept deep and vulnerable.
We trusted you. You came in, stood on our porch and closed the door behind.
Your tanks and soldiers. They laughed. They ridiculed.
They pushed and prodded, their guns loaded and armors shining.
"You want freedom?" they smirked. The dead were still warm. We stood there.
We stood helpless. We stood afraid, with our heads down in shame.
We didn't want much. Food and shelter, a bit of dignity. Was that a lot? There we laid naked and half dead, shivering.
They asked us to sing the song. Our national anthem. The one that talks about love and unity.
Our motherland. Our pride and vanity. How did we forget that song?
Perhaps we were scared. Embarrassed that we could not stand up.
We were crouching. Shame, fear or pain?
They laughed. they mocked. they left us for dead.
We won't forget this. We won't. Every bit and piece will remain. In memory, in history. For eternity.
You tell me this land is not mine. You want the proof.
We have been here. We were here before you.
We were here when the sun rose across that mountain;
The night ended, the rivers flowed, the ice thawed and the birds sang.
You want the proof? The proof is written in my blood. You have taken enough.
The future will come, life will tell the stories of our struggle.
How we bled for our land, our rights. How you tried to crush us. your batons and bayonets. How we defied.
We did not sell our soul, and some did. The pennies you threw at them. They took them and sold their hearts.
They killed, they raped, they lit their friends on fire. And all for what? a few morsels of food? A faint hope of power?
We will remember them. And history will tell.
The bards will sing who stood before your storm of hatred. Who kept their life at stake.
Not every fight is fought to be won. Some are just to say that we were there. And we were.
Where were you, my emperor?
When the world ends, and the lilies ooze the scent of death, we will be remembered.
Our songs will travel. Through the air, through the earth, through the rivers and the mountains. The little bird whose wings got broken will sing them.
Our voices, shut and tired, will be heard across oceans and continents. Our stories will stay.
Because we spoke of love. And that's what remains after all the blood is shed.
We will remember. Every fight, every defeat, every laughter, love, lust, and humiliation. Every village, city, and state.
We will be remembered. And you will be too.
Every bit and piece will remain etched forever.
You bring the darkest nights we will paint the brightest morning,
You write poems of bars and prisons, the hell freezes over your coldest jails;
Our stories will be engraved on those very cell walls.
You write the warrants, we will march;
Kill us, and our ghosts will haunt you forever.
You sit on your ivory tower. You make a mockery of your justice.
We will indict you. On every street, nook, and cranny. We are the people.
Our songs are the truest of them all. Written with our blood.
We will sing them loud. So loud it will pierce your impregnable deafness.
The deaf will hear our song, the blind will see the light.
You look down and write the stories of the chain. Look up, you traitor.
See the red dawn, the sun rises above your horizon. Your time is over.
Your tallest buildings and grandest lights have come down, the walls of your ornate garden have faded away;
We were there.
Your bullets have murdered us. Your pellets have blinded our people.
We will not forget them. We will remember the fight, the laughter, the vows.
Our throats will burn but we will sing at our loudest.
We will sing until we avenge them. Time after time. Until the end of it.
The nights were cold and dark, we slept deep and vulnerable.
We trusted you. You came in, stood on our porch and closed the door behind.
Your tanks and soldiers. They laughed. They ridiculed.
They pushed and prodded, their guns loaded and armors shining.
"You want freedom?" they smirked. The dead were still warm. We stood there.
We stood helpless. We stood afraid, with our heads down in shame.
We didn't want much. Food and shelter, a bit of dignity. Was that a lot? There we laid naked and half dead, shivering.
They asked us to sing the song. Our national anthem. The one that talks about love and unity.
Our motherland. Our pride and vanity. How did we forget that song?
Perhaps we were scared. Embarrassed that we could not stand up.
We were crouching. Shame, fear or pain?
They laughed. they mocked. they left us for dead.
We won't forget this. We won't. Every bit and piece will remain. In memory, in history. For eternity.
You tell me this land is not mine. You want the proof.
We have been here. We were here before you.
We were here when the sun rose across that mountain;
The night ended, the rivers flowed, the ice thawed and the birds sang.
You want the proof? The proof is written in my blood. You have taken enough.
The future will come, life will tell the stories of our struggle.
How we bled for our land, our rights. How you tried to crush us. your batons and bayonets. How we defied.
We did not sell our soul, and some did. The pennies you threw at them. They took them and sold their hearts.
They killed, they raped, they lit their friends on fire. And all for what? a few morsels of food? A faint hope of power?
We will remember them. And history will tell.
The bards will sing who stood before your storm of hatred. Who kept their life at stake.
Not every fight is fought to be won. Some are just to say that we were there. And we were.
Where were you, my emperor?
When the world ends, and the lilies ooze the scent of death, we will be remembered.
Our songs will travel. Through the air, through the earth, through the rivers and the mountains. The little bird whose wings got broken will sing them.
Our voices, shut and tired, will be heard across oceans and continents. Our stories will stay.
Because we spoke of love. And that's what remains after all the blood is shed.
We will remember. Every fight, every defeat, every laughter, love, lust, and humiliation. Every village, city, and state.
We will be remembered. And you will be too.
