sistema

Stripped of the cruel fate,
change the hand that no longer hurts me;
then the most precious dust is born.
Cult of imposture and you burst into tears.
The bloody war colonizes,
incessantly weaving royalty,
and a prophet spits on the bed
of a puppeteer who dies of old age.
For some, the sun is silence,
for others, it's only pure fire,
and when our thoughts clear up,
we will fly...
Waking up in a new destiny,
looking for Aladdins who chew on hunger,
discovering in nature
weapons that shoot,
fights that blend.
For some, the sun is silence,
for others, it's only pure fire,
and when our thoughts clear up,
we will fly...
Flying in an ownerless plane,
and seeing the coldness of the desert.
Owner of the sad hours,
blows its wind and laughs...