Man has ever made himself,
From every primordial element,
From lordly palaces to the most humble quarters.
And every age was a piece in a grand jigsaw puzzle,
Destined to ascend in the great animal realm,
Ushered forth with hands of every shade and color.
Mortal ingredients armed that great man,
With the light of the revolution,
The skills of an accomplished swordsman.
The events in the life of an exile,
When this land was abandoned by history, shame, love,
When it was invaded by an army,
It was an old tale that formed his farewell.
The major goes riding with his wounds,
And the more deadly his wounds,
The more animated he becomes.
And the annals of the great cavalcade of history,
And the distance of a hundred years,
Only bring him back to life again.
He trotted upon the waves,
Followed by a sea of black people
Armed with machetes.
And they were unchained.
He commanded with his trumpet,
With the call for the final assault.
And after a century, our song reverberates,
And declares it loudly.
Let us now banish the curse of our history.
The major goes riding with his wounds,
And the more deadly his wounds,
The more animated he becomes.
And the annals of the great cavalcade of history,
And the distance of a hundred years,
Only bring him back to life again.
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