| they rushed my flat
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| called me anarchist
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| now my head’s been shaved
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| stuck my foot in my own grave
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| but I have to be brave
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| wish I could just fly away
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| a last view of the horizon
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| I just hear shots and sirens
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| in your dictatorship head
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| I’m feeling dazed and mostly dead
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| dazed and mostly dead but I scream:
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| no nations —
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| it’s just a construct to oppress
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| no borders —
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| I can still see blood on your hands
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| no nations —
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| against your national threats
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| you can’t wash the blood — the blood off your hands
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| they stomped my face without a grace
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| acted like bloodhounds in a chase
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| but I won’t give up — I won’t fail
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| for all my brothers and sisters in jail
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| one day we’ll see the horizon
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| without the shots and the sirens
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| destroy dictatorship-camps
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| and fuck those national trends
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| you can’t wash the blood — the blood off your hands
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| my jail becomes your mental jail one day
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| you can’t wash the blood — the blood off your hands
|
| my jail — my jail could be yours one day |