GREAT SOUL IN MY COUNTRY 1 © 2007

Fated destiny that created me,

In the six-day war,

You cast me into this arena,

Still young, and already suffering!

Meanwhile, the letters of fire,

Were inscribed in the revolver,

The nation, in its pleasure, fired,

Without returning them.

The notary did not record them,

They were lost in unknown bodies,

And made the child who cried,

An orphan, immersed in pyrolites.

Gasping for breath, shouting,

The cold and dark night awoke,

And to its still anguished brothers,

It permeated wisdom and tenderness.

In the darkness, the sound echoes,

The weeping of a wounded soul,

That in childhood already resonates

The weight of a boundless war.

But even in the abyss of fear,

Where the light seems to forget,

A bond of affection and secrecy emerged,

That the pain began to embrace.

And so, in the coldest night,

Tenderness made itself present,

Like a beacon in the agony,

Guiding the hearts to reunion, at last.

The bullets, the words, were lost,

But in the silence, the root sprouted,

Of a peace that, in the shadows,

Became a promise of a happy future.

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