I will be waiting,
With a song in my soul.
A fortunate weakling,
Which I have foretold.
He raises his arms tied,
Above the opressed,
Singing this sweet song,
His melody opened up the sun.
Chourse:
And freedom rained,
God has come,
With the rivers of blood,
Pushed back in my veins.
She sleeps with her eyes closed,
To dream of the past,
Her mind has gone blind now,
Her memory closes up the sun .
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