As he stumbles to the ground,

The boy falls to a heap in a pool of crimson blood.

As the silence allows Death to encompass him in a cold embrace,

Like a marionette with cut strings, his body drops with a thud.

 

The departed soul chills the living.

As the boy goes down, our arms raise up.

 

The crippling pain of our ancestors surges through our bones,

While we witness the Unjust take hold.

As blow after blow of a baton slams into our backs,

The piercing shots of a gun tears through our unprotected flesh

While repeating history gradually unfolds.

 

The cooling blood ignites a flame,

As we feel the echoing pain just the same.

As the man goes down, our arms raise up.

 

The righteous sweep forward in droves,

To face the unwaverable Hydra of our justice system.

They are batted away, left and right,

Bloodied and beaten in this endless fight.

 

Their sweat and tears splatter against the ground,

Wounding those who are still around.

As a man went down, our arms rose up.