I'm sick and tired of the colors;

the green, the white, the green again

when all we are is green with greed and corruption,

an egg unbroken but already rotten,

the shells so brittle, the yoke so heavy,

heads we demand for the calamity in the Delta;

one mass, one people,

bursting with with grief,

but no more, I say, no more!

the birds that nest must be forced to depart,

by coercion or free will, surely they must flee

but the tree will stand rooted firmly, deeply,

and when the morning comes at last

the flowers will blossom anew.

Had I but one more chance to live again,

I'd sing and dance till my voice gives out,

I'd loll all day in the sun

and dare the waves again and again;

if asked what I'd like for breakfast,

I'd tell them, 'throw me a feast!'

Had I but one chance to make a last act,

I'd laugh in the faces of those who scorned me

and I'd tell them: 'Look who's the loser now.'

Maybe I'd stage a coup,

I'd behead every dictator that ever ruled;

and for those already dead, I'd dig up their bodies

and rip out their hearts;

I'd store their bones in my museum

finely preserved, just as a warning,

maybe that'd teach them to know better.

Our lands overflow with crimson red blood;

they torment, and haunt our souls,

can you hear them crying out?

can you feel their sorrow?

To hell with already,

let them hold us to ransom.