Hopes of freedom,
And the unbearable pain,
Cut the lifting hands,
Tighten the chain,
Sad faces,
Terrified hearts,
Bleed the men,
Finish before it starts,
One bullet here,
One bullet there,
Freeze the warming courage,
Beyond any repair,
Many will come,
Let the passion rise,
Stifling tanks will roar,
As she silently cries,
Flags will burn,
As the dictation marches,
But take one more step,
O! the burning torches.
Let the innocence hang,
Let it bleed a while,
Let the dead rise
From that stench of pile.
© Anamika Tripathi