How many growths are based on lies,
or should they be based on truth.
How many experiences are deeply hidden,
or should they be already forgotten.
I am like a wild grasses growing,
breaking out of the soil,
only for a wisp of sunlight.
Although the fires of wars are
still burning the land,
hope is never vanished.

How many faces are no longer the same
when we look back on our journeys.
How many battles rip open both hearts, bleeding,
when can we fly wing by wing.
If dreams are withdrawn,
I don’t know
the what is left to fight for.
Wait till the glory passes,
till the spark starts a fire,
and you and I will overturn.

Faces of color,
hearts of slaves,
are roaring in a revolution.
Chests of anger,
bodies of passion,
build up a promising future.

I want the palm to comfort the wounds,
and bury all the sorrowfulness.
I want my chest to withstand the sharp edges
and to guard this land of us.
I want this belief to echo in a thousand years,
and people to kneel before it.
I want a life to fulfill this promise, and
in next life I will come to your side.