When the scavenging was done,
And the vultures had landed
one by one,
eating away at the scraps,
peeling the left-over
flesh that had been rotting,
the soul, still renewing itself
from the blows of death,
rising little by little
one day at a time,
knew all too well
That one day it will rise.
Knowing deep inside
That it will live
to tell the stories
of the violence and games of death.
That one day
the rogues of the regime
will be held to account
in the court of justice.
That one day
it will sing again the songs of joy
of hope and truth
looking the regime in the eye.