Every injustice shall make my words bleed,
Every visual shall plant a poem’s seed,
In this world where ink is for sale,
I shall be the pen, the truth needs.
Unperturbed by the power of lies,
I shall let the truth free to fly,
Even if they deny me of ink,
My blood will write, till I die.
I wield my pen like a sword,
Mightier than the metal cold,
I will resist, I may perish,
My life is a price, truth can afford.
I wield my pen like a sword,
I will slaughter these webs of lies,
Come at me with all your might,
My blood will write, till I die.
