Once time ago the river passed under the bridge as like as the sun rising every day. The fire burns and purifies everything, while the water blots out our regrets. Now the river is a desolation land that marks the difference between the white men and negros. Exhausting scar of life.
Their dreams are not less than ours. Their broken bones are hidden under our beds. Meanwhile, the knife kills their children, the fairytale broke to them their teeth. Berlin’s wall has already built, again. Take my home Caronte.
A good fable painted of red. It’s a joke. Wake up. Mate.
Broken hearts dripping of blood refill of hate and fears, they play the charge. White bones and black holes. They overjoyed. I was there. No more. We are going to work with head down, while our back it is going to breaks and our brain is turning off. Hey, don’t piss outside the hole.
Welcome back to home.
The song remains the same, old pirates command a legion of a fool. We try to catch the wind, but, like magic its escapes. Delicious symphony made of fake promises deceives our hearts, while our souls are going to die.
We are broken; nevertheless, the sound of our voice is silent.
Once time ago the rivers give a life, flow and cleaning the dirty. Now it is empty as like as our consciences.