With my sevenfold inquisitorial eye,
More obscene than the urban wind,
I have raised up through its ripping folds
A dress of blue snake-skin
Horrible! All the side of a race
Lies there, spent,
Across the huge blocks of the generations.
Our liberty still weighs upon us
Seaweed and coral brothers
Who have never ceased to watch over our dead.
One day we will reward your constancy as it deserves,
And for their funerals we will dry up the sea.
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