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In the darkest cracks of our psyche

lies a place where nothing grows.

Descendent of the intrinsic fires

who's embers cease to glow.

Enveloped in despair of political

disrepair while we feast on the

scraps from the table of the haves

and have mores.

There's nothing there!

They dine in celebration,

raising their glasses to

the coming war.

The iron fist of the sentinel

smashing our hopes as it comes down,

We abandon lofty hopes with our feet

planted further in the ground.

Who will muster

the strength to rise?

Who will muster

the strength to rise?

Arise!

As the infantry line the streets

scattered with the malnourished bodies

of our young, the weeping word

"Revolution" aching on our tongues.

Take up arms brothers and sisters,

now is the time to make the streets ours.

As we've tried for years to find freedom

we call it the struggle, they call it crime.

Now is our time!

Our time to die for freedom,

to be inspired by the ghosts of our past.

For red blood to stain black clothes,

he pounding drums of the bombs blast!

We will gnash our teeth

and bathe in our own blood,

and we will die laughing

while we swim in the flood.

Victory may only exist in our minds

and in nature's oaken pantheon.

When the lights finally go out the

songs of our revolution will play on.

The song of our revolution will play on...