The Martyrs' Blood

Last words of confidence

still penetrate the cannonthunder,

so many daring dreams will fall,

the vision of a better world

dies in the bombingrain.

No time to say farewell,

the world shall hear about their fight.

Betrayed by spineless servants,

conspiracies

so many heroes shot from behind.

No thoughts of giving in,

no stampede

no more negotiating.

This desesperate fight will set a sing

they died with the gun in their hands.

Time will avenge one day.

The sky is colored red by the martyr's blood,

the same sky under which.

The victors marching in again,

bringing back the slavery,

the oldest order,

under rule again

it's been too early,

but they shall rise again.

If it all came down to me,

would I shed my blood for

what I lived for?

Would I clench my fist

until the last breath?