When the light will tell the thickness of poems,
When the rain washes the letters,
I will come from ancient times past
A mechanical rusty doll.

On the wall nakalabay a few words.
I even will not be enough.
About the others, gone before, fighters,
The ones that are gone.

It won't be the eternal "punks not dead".
We're not that *****.
We're stuck with corks in our stomachs.,
We're just tin cans.

If someone reads my text on the wall,
The creak this song will.
But there's no difference in footprints.
The prints of the feet of we the people.