Within these four walls only a number exists
Which does not progress
Which slowly will wish more and more for death
But suddenly my conscience awakes
And I see this tide with no heartbeat
Only the pulse of machines
And the military showing their midwives' faces
Full of sweetness
How much humanity
Exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain
Moral pressures, terror and insanity?
What horror the face of fascism creates!
They carry out their plans
With knife-like precision
For them blood equals medals
Slaughter is an act of heroism
How hard it is to sing
When I sing a song of horror
Horror which I am living
Horror which I am dying
To see myself among so much
And so many moments of infinity
In which silence and screams
Are the end of my song