Black the night, I am bound
A silent bird in a foreign cage
March of men, the bells are ringing
Poets shackled in iron chains
Hush child and halt your singing
Dark eyes turn to the ground
Whispers of truths, deceiving
Ghosts, echoes and chanting crowds
Rivers and mountains, sickle moon, snow
Shackle the dancers; an ancestor’s woe
Militant daughters and absent her sons
A mother is grieving, the damage is done
Murmurs of a thousand voices
Song the needle that weaves the thread
Weave and spin the ancient stories
Word for which your daughters bled
The mother tongue of stateless pilgrims
Threaten the pillars of prison walls
Guards lay siege to the songs of children
Fettered by thieves as darkness falls
Rivers and mountains, sickle moon, snow
Shackle the dancers; an ancestor’s woe
Militant daughters and absent her sons
A mother is grieving, the damage is done
Rivers and mountains, sickle moon, snow
Shackle the dancers; an ancestor’s woe
A militant daughter not silent by choice
They can shackle my body
But never my voice
A silent bird in a foreign cage
March of men, the bells are ringing
Poets shackled in iron chains
Hush child and halt your singing
Dark eyes turn to the ground
Whispers of truths, deceiving
Ghosts, echoes and chanting crowds
Rivers and mountains, sickle moon, snow
Shackle the dancers; an ancestor’s woe
Militant daughters and absent her sons
A mother is grieving, the damage is done
Murmurs of a thousand voices
Song the needle that weaves the thread
Weave and spin the ancient stories
Word for which your daughters bled
The mother tongue of stateless pilgrims
Threaten the pillars of prison walls
Guards lay siege to the songs of children
Fettered by thieves as darkness falls
Rivers and mountains, sickle moon, snow
Shackle the dancers; an ancestor’s woe
Militant daughters and absent her sons
A mother is grieving, the damage is done
Rivers and mountains, sickle moon, snow
Shackle the dancers; an ancestor’s woe
A militant daughter not silent by choice
They can shackle my body
But never my voice
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