México 68

So they are never forgotten
the glorious Olympics
the government ordered to kill
four hundred comrades.

Oh, Plaza de Tlatelolco,
how your bullets hurt me,
four hundred hopes
snatched away by betrayal.

How do the riot police
feel when they get home?
Do they love their wives
with bloodstained hands?

But those stains don't come out
with soap, nor with water.
I ask you, riot police:
how do you plan to wash them?

The Virgin of Guadalupe
knows the murderers,
don't light candles for them anymore
because she is with the fallen.
You won't silence your conscience
with prayers or with wine.

The students walk
with truth in their eyes,
nothing can stop them,
not flowers nor bullets.
For their dead they bring
actions, not just words.

Despite being so far away
the shots were heard here
from those brave soldiers
who killed from behind.

So they are never forgotten
from that Mexican land
the government ordered to kill
four hundred comrades.