Kalvellido Bullet
These days I wonder what kind of world we bequeath.
Beyond our graves will be a land where violence if goes along with democracy, is an asset to all who breathe.
A world of slavers and slave, a barbarian world. And among such confusion
I also wonder what will happen with the flags, with their bodies, with all those people who are massacred daily in the name of strange liberties, justice rare, false salvapatrias intentions.
And I must say, I feel that will leave a legacy of nausea, that the future arrives, brings dragged too barbaric.
In view of all is that many democracies today are openly murderous exhibit lewd, grotesque, his lack of humanity and who believe they want to believe as they do in our name.
This happens now, the empire dress, the words are adulterated and should improve this place that history inevitably worsens.
For all this, I wonder what will become of those who come, how will to inherit the song or hope?, What way will draft a will that distributes the joy or anger, how to explain this memory lies, repeated damage, with immense robberies, how spell "democracy" without blood-stained lips, spotless dreams? How not to be ashamed
from the tomb of this evil world calved violated a thousand times a thousand times massacred?
How do we poke the angry rebellion in the land and stop, drop by drop the blood spilled in the name of democracy?
How we do this without getting hurt and failures, without death hurts us, not hurt us this life of flesh, cannon and hunger?
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