The generation of janitors and guards
Have lost each other in the spaciousness of the endless earth,
Everyone has gone home.
In our time, when each third is a hero, they write no articles,
They send no telegrams.
They are standing like stair steps,
While the burning petroleum is gushing from floor to floor.
And from somewhere they hear singing,
And who am I to tell them that it's a mirage?
We kept silence like lambs while everything was being sold,
That could only be sold, our children included.
And the poisoned rain is falling into the rotting bay,
And we're still gazing into the screen, we're still waiting for news.
And our fathers will never tell us a lie,
They are incapable of lying,
Just like wolves cannot eat meat, like birds do not know how to fly.
Tell me what I did to you,
What is this pain for?
But there're no explanations to it.
It may be something in blood.
But I myself lit the fire which burnt me from inside.
I escaped from the law, but never reached love.
But pray for us, pray for us if you can.
We have no hope,
But this way is ours.
And the voices sound still closer and stricter.
And be I damned if this is a mirage.