La Noche de los Lápices
Iparfolk
The Night of the Pencils
Blood in the history of that gladiator
Who fought in the middle of the street
Manifesting what he did not understand
The echo resonates in his voice
Argentinian people standing up
Running in seventy-six
Fighting for a ticket of that bus
That never saw the light
They trampled the garden
Of the student essence
The military dust scrapes
The mortal criminal knew
They trampled the garden
Of the student essence
The military dust scrapes
The mortal criminal knew
Seven innocents of blood and unity
Their shell emerged
Red the cells that housed them
They are reddened with pain
A rebellious sun shines over there
To that memory that I was
And in defeat I will disguise myself
As the same kid once again
They trampled the garden
Of the student essence
The military dust scrapes
The mortal criminal knew
They trampled the garden
Of the student essence
The military dust scrapes
The mortal criminal knew
