Sacar La Voz

Breathe to raise your voice,
Soar far like a swift eagle.
Breathe a bright future,
It makes more sense if we create it together.
Free yourself from all the shame,
Take the reins,
Don’t give in to the oppressor.
Walk tall, without fear,
Breathe and raise your voice.

Uhh, uhh, uhhh (x2).

I’ve got empty pockets,
Chapped lips,
Skin like scales,
Every time I look into the void.
Worn-out soles,
Hands tied,
The front door always had the sign,
That said it was closed.
A thorn stuck,
An infected wound, tangled,
A rage overflowing,
In everything and nothing.
Clumsy steps, on the edge, out of tune,
Every time I lose my way,
I feel the loss of support.
Time drives the dagger,
It traps me, the blade,
It kills me, sharp is the flame, without calm,
Slipping through my fingers.
But, I have my blooming corner,
Raise your voice,
I’m not alone,
I’m with myself.

Free yourself from all the shame,
Take the reins,
Don’t give in to the oppressor.
Walk tall, without fear,
Breathe and raise your voice.

Uhh, uhh, uhhh (x4).

I’ve forgotten love,
Tired, worn out, thrown away,
All the pieces fell to the floor,
That were broken.
The gaze hunched,
The fist clenched,
I have nothing, but nothing,
Counts in this puddle.
The jaw marked,
Words prepared,
Every letter sharp,
Is on the crest of the wave.
Without shame or glory,
I’ll write this story,
The point isn’t to fall,
Getting up is the victory.
Come back,
Open the door,
It’s settled,
Stay alert.
Raise the voice that was dead,
And make it an orchestra,
Walk, sure, free, without fear,
Breathe and raise your voice.

Free yourself from all the shame,
Take the reins,
Don’t give in to the oppressor.
Walk tall, without fear,
Breathe and raise your voice.

Uhh, uhh, uhhh (x4).

Time drives the dagger,
Whatever one does,
It ruins timely,
You don’t get what time pays.
It ruins saga after saga,
Scrapes with its bitter spatula,
Becomes orphaned of compasses,
And lucidly in heat,
White the weapon, white the hair,
His white face of a scoundrel.
'This' says a ballad,
The one Violeta sang,
The one from the eighth syllable of the kicker,
Old school.
And what hurts, let it hurt,
If it has to hurt,
The flame without calm, let it burn,
Let it keep burning,
Let it keep glowing,
If it has to glow.

On a string,
To hang the verse,
That the wind sways,
That rarely deserves.
Every sorrow,
Let it voice, every cough,
Thinking of raising the voice.

Uhh, uhh, uhhh (x2).