Sobre Esta Tierra

What turns
A life into darkness?
I could ask
Even a poet who always said
I'm not a social chimera

Nor am I a brick, of these walls
Nor a city bird, nor has forgotten how to fly
I can moisten my face
In the fog

Who refuses to contribute to this world
Can never demand
The fragrance of naked tolerance
Nor equality

It turns into a fist
That tries to silence at will
The poets, the singers
The shamanic propellers

There are men
Who give their lives for an ideal
There are others who are just a wound
Because they are their own dagger

Mediocre ones don't usually change
They only believe in luck
But there are men who see beyond
Without fear of death

Those dead-end labyrinths
Never overshadow those who shine
With enchanting light, on this land
On this land

There are men
Who give their lives for an ideal
There are others who are just a wound
Because they are their own dagger

Mediocre ones don't usually change
They only believe in luck
But there are men who see beyond
Without fear of death

Those dead-end labyrinths
Never overshadow those who shine
With enchanting light, on this land
On this land, on this land
On this land, on this land