It is in our poor spirit
we suffer they laugh
It is having no limit
our scar becoming their scarf...

In the dust of a tiny spark
who becomes wicked and wild?
In the tantrum of their lark
tear drops we have compiled...

Tortured by the light , a lust of power
Hurt by the bullets appeared in a word
Ignited in the dust , lay down an arm to hover
the screams that they have never heard...

How can a bee see a reddened flower
when it has a glimpse of a toxic bloom
They won't find our dignity to empower
the wind that flows through...