English version :

This violence that grows in the body of rebellious people,
destroyed
Their souls killed by life.
They are told that hatred is useless,
But what else can they have?
Apart from this sadness,
This horribly bitter taste.
Tears hurt their cheeks,
They can only swear revenge someday.
The ardor of this life so quickly taken,
This feeling of distress,
The inferiority of not knowing how to resist misfortune.
We are all the same,
Taken at his game,
Losing whatever we face.

Killed, killed, killed.
Kill them all.
That they tear off their heads,
Put them on a spike.
Their hanging eyes,
Their dripping blood,
On our hands of saints.
This sword that runs through their flesh,
This mass that ransack their skull.

Hate, hate, hate.
I hate to lose.
I would become a god by destroying the weak.
The separation of their bodies.
The saw that cuts this arm,
The person writhes and resists without getting anything.
Violated, manipulated.

To market at night without the power to live.
They are chasing you,
So why flee?
God does not even look at you live.
He is waiting for your death to make you happy.
You lost faith.

Life continues to bait us,
Push the knife,
We get stuck on the ground while we crawl the dagger still in our body,
Slashing our flesh, our bones.

This is not a horror vision.
That's just how we suffer.

The whip falls on our backs.
The dried blood that you scratch is tearing your skin a little more.
It slips when you pass the blade under it.
They will tear our heads away because we are weak.

They think they are saints, all...