Our skins still sang songs of rage,
We hated ourselves outrageously out of lack of knowledge about our forefather’s thrones
And the royalty our blood wore.
Even after a hundred years of festivities
Our shoulders have carried more burdens than the poet’s children.
We have not lived again since the silence,
The short lived joy and earth song singing.
The promised joy from our gods has become nothing more than modern spears
To stab our own brothers in their backs.
The anthems we borrowed our enemies
Have swept our homes from under our feet
And we have lost our identity with the things we lost in the fire
Along with tires to cars we never had.