Luca Menin


Beware, defection of the populace.
In the murmurs pitchforks square,
Assault the masters thieves
Hang your freedom.

They sold the lands, where the angels stand,
With their crawling hands and bloody stained faces,
Sorrow lives invent their lies for powers and might.
Squeezing freedom of lights, in tunnels of blind sight.

The patience have lost her calm, revolt up rise.
We are the lords, of our worlds, enslaved of comfort and laze.
By the masters' games, on a board of paper and fire.
Of low desire.

Worth like blindfolded eyes on a vessel springboard edge.
Bath of sharks awaiting to jump.
Rip that bandages off from your faces.
Everything awake, desires of freedom penetrate.

Hang those men, which love have forgotten.
Evaporate, poor's people's faces.
Secret societies and rings of fingers, manipulate invented whores.

Of misleading imagines of reinsurance words.
And take everything that you work for.
My soul improvises,
now escape revolt at the stake.

They will fight you with lambs of war, disguised wolfs.
Crush you with sludge, on your ancestors' lands.
Savour your fear, ferocious beast of human being.
They just kill your child, like an annoying fly.
Blackmail you of bombs and mortars life's

On every uphill there is always a descent,
Exterminate the fat cats, with their fish bones & milk cup.
Incited revolt, I want your hunger of freedom be filled of peace and serenity.
There is not peace, without a fight, like death without life.

Minotaur's maze, there is not escape, not string of directions,
Confront the monsters, slay his horns of sins & deceptions.
On your life of aggression.
Defend your pride don t let them trick you with promises of lies.
The future belongs to the people not to a few.

Submitted: Monday, April 16, 2012
Edited: Friday, August 10, 2012

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