I used to be ignorant
Despising culture and language.
But now I see hurt
Fear
Anger
Frustration
Hunger
Instability.
Over thousands of miles away they cry and dream.
Like me.
They grew up faster than me.
Became more cautious of death.
For its mask is not as hard as its bite.
Whispers of muerte slither through the gusty winds at day and night.
Women and man disappear into this muerte mist.
It slips into their dreams as they sleep on trains.
Jolts them awake at times,
Falling to another ground of death.
For this muerte hangs on like a burden,
Waiting for the bandits to arrive,
To follow their shadows
Then leave the ***** work to them.

Violation
   Slaughter
     Harrassment
       Theft
         ****
           Barbarism
            Fresh Prey

This is only the beginning of these actions.
Running doesn't escape their fate.
Insomnia pumps their veins.
Exhaustion wears heavier than the thick skin.
Muerte masks cover the faces.
Women
  Men
    Children
      Babies

It laughs and taunts at their survival.
They can't see these masks or stop them.
It's a struggle in itself to keep that omen away.
They know them too well.
Smell too many scents of fear.
Hate to see these people strive for a new life that they were meant to live.
There is more power over the border of America than what we hear.
The innocent voices of the dead sing to everyone of all colour, but our ears won't wake up.
We are more dead than they are.
Los inmigrantes necesitan ayudar con su nueva vida.
Tenemos esperanza!
That's just a phrase that gets thrown now like a piece of paper tossed in the wind.
Like knowing the sun rises and sets.
No one here cares about the struggle or hears the sound of the muerte masks.
Working families are the ones dying,
and these muerte masks are thriving.