You bustard, taught me how to cry,
Can you hear it?
Why do not you listen to it?

You bustard, sprinkle blood over me,
I was in my mint colored custom,
It is black now,
Can you see it?
Why do not you look at it?


You bastard, brought your bloody violence to the street that I always love,
I was prepared to celebrate the victory of hope,
Now, I am hearing the hope still silently marches on the street that you never own,
Now, I am looking at you beating the hope that never defeats.
Now, I am looking at you trying to kill the hope that never dies.
You bastard, remember the time that I ask:
Why cannot you see the tears?
Why cannot you hear the groan?