A keresés eredménye

Winds of power

Winds of power
in the final twilight lead the trip.
That more than one gave in to the inca powder,
show the reports of the guard control.
 
The leaders shake for showing decency
and may justice warriors open their legs.
The emerging structure shakes
in a bubbly orgy of black magics.
 
The old poor follows the procession
with a silentful instinct of privation.
I don't sell songs of sold love,
I stand where I am and I don't hassle myself.
 
If the nets of the bones catch me,
for being poor surely will bash me.
But I'm not defeated I'm still strong
to give my resistance message.
 
I'll keep going with the metal and my message
I'll stumble if you're not in this journey.
In this journey.
 

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I won't do it

Look at them,
they come from behind.
And our absent love is
hindering their walk.
 
Come close,
come with me,
let's search without looking back,
it's the last chance.
 
We have
this road
with nothing left to choose
but to rust or to resist.
 
Letting the fear to stop them
is to shoot them in the back.
Feeding the suffocating darkness
 
I won't do it, I won't hand them over
to the impatient anxiety.
Of the vice or the loneliness.
 
Allowing so they die for the future
is turning on again
the living fire that will clean this environment.
 

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Red hot skull

For your death.
 
Avoiding patrols
of the sick night,
lukewarm morning in the plains,
standing in legs.
 
Under the sun my red hot skull
tried to understand,
and the register of the past time,
to keep my mind awake.
 
I live the exile of the native
under the grey conqueror magics.
That still traffic fear
like gauchos to the desert yesterday.
 
I wake up on the roads
of the dead land.
I watch myself near my brothers
sick of miseries
and stripped of any right
by the white empire.
 
Who in the exile of the native
rose the cult of the great fear.
That still atrophy lives
like in the witty Falklands war.
 
My red hot skull
tried to understand,
It wasn't empty,
my red hot skull.
 
Thousand of immigrants
make the city.
They mutated the native,
removing his place.
 
They sew death
all over the extension
of this infected land
without sense or reason.
 

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When the city sleeps

The city is asleep and he still walks,
looking for a friend who doesn't open the legs.
The car patrols, I know, they wwon't leave him alone
because they are there for that.
 
The neighbourhood that smiled at him since kid,
denounced him for seeing him very unaware.
And for not hurting who brought him to life,
he walks by the sleeping city with no place to stop.
 
Juvenile detention centers are the place
where they punish the unclaimed underaged.
Society adopts him as a son of a bitch,
that's why he scapes from the cops when the city sleeps.
 

My translations are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. It doesn't apply to the translations with a source.