Within these four walls only a number exists Which does not progress Which slowly will wish more and more for death But suddenly my conscience awakes And I see this tide with no heartbeat Only the pulse of machines And the military showing their midwives' faces Full of sweetness How much humanity Exposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain Moral pressures, terror and insanity? What horror the face of fascism creates! They carry out their plans With knife-like precision For them blood equals medals Slaughter is an act of heroism How hard it is to sing When I sing a song of horror Horror which I am living Horror which I am dying To see myself among so much And so many moments of infinity In which silence and screams Are the end of my song