Tempo de mazá-lo liño
Non hai hestoria que lave
as falcatruadas dos amos.
Non hai terra que nos chegue
onde podere enterralos.
Non hai noite sen mencere,
non hai cadela sen rabo,
os cadelos nacen soios,
o mencere hai que ganalo.
Coas maus de todos collidas,
e o medo baixo das pedras,
facemos nace-lo día,
do funeral das miserias.
Tamos no tempo de tequeletequele,
tamos no tempo de tequelexar,
tamos no tempo do tequeletequele,
tamos no tempo do liño mazar.
Time to Mash It Up
There's no story that can wash
away the tricks of the masters.
There's no land that we can reach
where we can bury them.
There's no night without barking,
there's no dog without a tail,
dogs are born alone,
barking has to be earned.
With the hands of all gathered,
and the fear under the stones,
we make the day rise,
of the funeral of miseries.
We're in the time of shake it up,
we're in the time of shake it down,
we're in the time of shake it up,
we're in the time to mash it up.