You view my calm as lack of confidence
I found solace in your type at bottom of bottle
Volatile soul shall least conform to your corporate world
Watch as you crumble as this ancient tongue unfurls

I wish to save us all from peril
But alas, I was conceived too late
Caracas of my culture picked at by you corporate vultures
I shall stand the granite sculpture and sculptor

Chest plate ruptures upon streets
Pouring blood of centuries shall never retreat
I speak the truths you wish to hide
As you envelope yourself with your lies

Try to hide the cries of the babies, dear sweet ladies
I could never let what happened to our ancestors happen again
You try to assassinate me with your legal pen as I speak volumes
Consumed with this useless prose which surrounds me

You try to survive this pressure housed inside my mind
The blind have led the blind for way too long
The death of you has been prolonged for way too long
So here is your fucking three-minute pop song