|Cold steel with loud explosions. White faces with vicious expressions. We watch the sea devils invading and trampling nature, infuriating spirits, taking food, killing forests – building hell. |
The armed walls built from stone they call forts. Killing game for sport, leaving the remains rotting.
Pious women and perverted men. Forcing Christianity, saying it's love while our children are bleeding.
Fighting back is futile, but fighting is all we got. Our wives are dying, our sons are sick. Our warriors are lying on the grasslands, their spirits in the sky.
One day we'll fight and that day we'll win. Even though out bodies will lay in red stained grass, our spirits will be alive. This land is ours, gifted by our ancestors, and whatever happens, our names are imprinted on it, whether with blood or magic.
The day will come when our children can run free again, the day will come when the earth is green anew, when this land is ours once more.