Blood. My ritual. The flame
Reincarnates the evil
The hill. Flowers at last
The horde reborn in the basement of kings
Sore. The wounds. Inheritance of the slave
The limbo of souls
He dies through hatred, reborn through war
He walks through the fire and retakes what is his!
The feet on the ground
The pain, the whip. The red soil
Dagger in hand. The slave is reborn
The Quilombo stands up!
There is no triumph if the victory was given
There is no conquest in a war without battle
Only the grain. The scum, the scraps
The slave rise up and the empire will die!
The dreams brought by dawn
will not vanish, even in death
From the ground which peace is aimed
Hell is here too. eyes open wide
The fists raise up - will be reborn!
Declare war. The servants against the world - will be reborn!
Every morning brings our heritage of struggle
Inglorious victory in the mud of the street
Death, darkness, time. The cure
The slave rises up and the empire will die!