time to rise
Here where revolution claims imminent need Filled with weak people afraid to do this deed No artists who create silent eternities anymore The "počtes maudits" have become memory bore Blind souls daily in a surrealism of absinthe New dawn awakes without yesterday's instinct A man without floor, window, water or bed Prefers life outside to commercial death These modern times long here and far ahead Bring us they will not joy nor wanted freedom For here honesty is considered hollow and flat Blood is spilled often and never too seldom Since the incrimination of Marie Antoinette Only in heart and mind do we find our kingdom |
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