Manos Blancas

There's an adult
Playing at war
Like a rich kid
With no education

Throws taxes
Like chips
From a throne
Of television

Never stepped on the land that burns
Never pays for his destruction
Sends bombs out of tantrum
And they call it a decision

It's not character
It's violence
It's not power
It's corruption

When someone else's whim rules
The people tremble
But they raise their voice

They decide the national interest
Over lands that aren't theirs
Mouth full of riches
White hands
Dirty bullets

The dead are always the poor
The loot never changes hands
20 years of invasions
Repeating the same story

They promised freedom
Came with occupation
Took away the future
And left desolation

I have rage against the empire
A lament with reason
When a rich jerk
Plays God with a button

There's no war that's a game
No missile that makes sense
Only mothers burying
What the rich didn't cry for

For Venezuela, I raise my voice
Don't use it as a distraction
Let it decide its path
Without blockade or invasion

Don't repeat the story
Of saving through occupation
We already know how it ends
With poverty and repression

Let it be heard from the hill
From the neighborhood and the yard
The people are not toys
For those who don't know how to lead

Wealth signs orders
From above and on high
But hunger executes
In the house and in the shack

They divide the maps
Like inheritance from the boss
And the world pays for the tantrum
Of the spoiled one with a cannon

Stop the rich kid
Not with bullets
But with prison
Arrogance stops
When the people raise their voice

No more wars for whims
No more death for control
Let power come down from the throne
And answer for its mistakes

Let those who work decide
Who resists and who was born
Self-determination
Can't be bought with terror

Respect for others' rights
Is peace
Not imposition
If power sells life
Let the heart resound