Corbelles

I'm looking for so many answers, that I forget the questions I've asked
Losing in impotence at the rhythm that hits straight
Thinking more about desires than facts, crying out of anger
Wanting to make walls out of the walls

Knock down the wall, open the cage, get out of the well
Water life with new sap the new man, Hugo lives
On the face of his people who say: they shall not pass
Defend their bread and their homes

And the company owner puts on a show
Crying if they expropriate his wealth
This is not as it used to be, they found a way
They smelled the blood, and now the beast is hungry

Laws are no longer laws if they always fail
The king is no longer the king if they cut off his head
Bring the weapons to my people, stones are raining
The people save the people from those damn bastards

And greeting the new century, they break the script and the rules
And one thing: If you come with State coups like
In Cuba, like Vietnam: You will fall without mercy!

Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
A flower grows on the wall, wants to be future, is present, is memory
Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
A flower grows on the wall, wants to be future, is present, is memory

You hear how the metaphors are sharpened
And the sound of the guillotine cuts the air
Destined to never have the right to win
They have bounced back and the north begins to tremble

Guevara lives like Durruti in the words of Emma Goldman
The south smiles aware of its strength
The Chicago School does not guide our steps
We bring ideas and energy in pieces

Expropriate, collectivize, let the people manage
Beyond ministers and presidents
Hurry up, they feel the fear on their skin
Remember our dead as we sharpen the knife

Cochabamba, Chiapas, Haymarket
Open veins, sharpened scythes
We have the references, the examples
The jungle, we defend it with machetes

Our house is not the gringos' backyard
Step by step we expel the empire
And an idea we should not forget
Against all authority, iron bar to the head!!

Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
A flower grows on the wall, wants to be future, is present, is memory
Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
A flower grows on the wall, wants to be future, is present, is memory

And they will never be our warehouse again
Dignity is not for sale, the land is not for sale
They will not allow themselves to be exploited
Nor bear the weight of new boots

Capitalism is barbarism, they have learned that
history is written with the blood of the losers, yes
That now they own the coffee, the wheat and the sugar
That in this Europe death smells like sulfur

Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
Storms come from the south, a flower grows on the wall
Scythes sound (scythes, scythes...)

Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
A flower grows on the wall, wants to be future, is present, is memory
Storms come from the south, scythes cutting through the fog
A flower grows on the wall, wants to be future, is present, is memory