May it be... I must refuse death And burn the tears of the bleeding songs And strip the olive tree of all its fake branches For if I was singing for joy Behind the eyelids of scared eyes Then because the storm Promised me wine And new toasts (celebratory, not bread) And rainbows And because the storm Swept away the sound of idle sparrows And the naked branches From the stems of the standing tress
And may it be... I must be proud of you oh wound of the city You, my portrait, flashed in our sad nights The street's face frowned So you protect me from the shadow and glances of rancor
I will sing for joy Behind the eyelids of scared eyes Since the storm has sprung up in our country It has promised me wine and rainbows