Beneath neon’s glare, a terrace blooms—
Not roots nor leaves, but plastic fruits conspire,
Their syrup drips in saccharine perfumes,
A trap for flies drunk on electric fire.
Concrete veins pulse with synthetic juice,
Glass thrones host lips that sip and never taste;
Each gulp a hymn to progress, yet obtuse—
Teeth rot as sweetness melts to chemical waste.
......
Like the oak with lots of knots and tight growth rings.
You can count over years and years.
Here, the depth of roots is only counted.
A story that has been passed down over the generations.
Can you hear how breathe my country?
The roots grew from the blood spots of your ancestors and got tight into this stone.
Listen, you have a reason and don't ask how much.
Your worldly goods are here.
Your cradle broke into these rocks.
Don't let your dreams be shattered
......
Beneath neon’s glare, a terrace blooms—
Not roots nor leaves, but plastic fruits conspire,
Their syrup drips in saccharine perfumes,
A trap for flies drunk on electric fire.
Concrete veins pulse with synthetic juice,
Glass thrones host lips that sip and never taste;
Each gulp a hymn to progress, yet obtuse—
Teeth rot as sweetness melts to chemical waste.
......
Like the oak with lots of knots and tight growth rings.
You can count over years and years.
Here, the depth of roots is only counted.
A story that has been passed down over the generations.
Can you hear how breathe my country?
The roots grew from the blood spots of your ancestors and got tight into this stone.
Listen, you have a reason and don't ask how much.
Your worldly goods are here.
Your cradle broke into these rocks.
Don't let your dreams be shattered
......