No one sleeps tonight.
Our silence
is whispering sorrow among the old trees
as the empty rooms you left with your carnage.

Nothing but darkness left.
Burn ‘em to ashes, then burn the ashes.

And I drown my fears to the bottom.
My throat tastes like salt, blood and anger.
The sky is raining charcos, ríos, mares de dolor.

We see your real face through the wall. It has a name.
You, the beast on prime time and out of control.
They’re running away from your claws, from your shadow flying in circles.
Your greed sees everything, it wants everything.

We had to look everywhere. More empty rooms.
We figured out curses and spells, preludes and afterwords.

Now we invoke the damned to the feast,
for this is our time to eat, and yours to be eaten.

The vultures of rage still devour their livers as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of nightmares still knock them over.
You can feel so much pain in their silent voices.

Shredded memories, violent repetitions of the finest human arts.
Torture is not a word anymore. I wish I had a word for it.
I’m on my own on this wave of anguish.

Our songs became stained with your hatred.
It fills every page, It fills everything.

We’ve got blind after the fire. Now it’s time to listen to them.
Burn ‘em to ashes, then burn the ashes.

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