The Martyrs' Blood

Last words of confidence still penetrate the cannonthunder, so many daring
dreams will fall, the vision of a better world dies in the bombingrain. No
time to say farewell, the world shall hear about their fight. Betrayed by
spineless servants, conspiracies - so many heroes shot from behind. No
thoughts of giving in, no stampede - no more negotiating. This desesperate
fight will set a sing - they died with the gun in their hands. Time will
avenge one day. The sky is colored red by the martyr's blood, the same sky
under which. The victors marching in again, bringing back the slavery, the
oldest order, under rule again - it's been too early, but they shall rise
again. If it all came down to me, would I shed my blood for what I lived
for? Would I clench my fist until the last breath?