Sweats and blood run through the entire system Hot and cold, they keep fighting In the rich veins of the naturally naked body; A universe, an empire, a system exist in them But with a battleground Where the poor and the weak Both have to prove their killer instincts...
War for survival has been there since eternity The canned, the thinned, the tanned lose their tolerance All are in the war waged on for their own identity-- Their existential struggle For the identity of their ill-fed, soiled skin...
Blood, even if cold, of the poor at the bottom Will keep fighting in their rich veins; Against the muscled, Against the big mustached
Against the white-clad flocks with a cap. One may die; another may cry over the death or sacrifice But the martyr's gory struggle will never go in vain.
Let the bloody hands behead as many as they can But the poor's head will never bow down Let the gun sound much more, The ears will pay no heed to its scary sound. Let the mad made of wealth Go berserk or run amuck; Strong hearts will never go in oblivion Even if sunken in the pool of profuse blood. The poor's blood is both hot and cold; It keeps fighting in humane veins; And it will carry on the fighting till the last drop Against the cruel system, against the capitalists!
Sunken eyes will ever twinkle even in fear The terrorized will never lose heart in terror...
