Keep warm my voice, my dearest alien
In this peninsula corpses were silenced.
The King Penguin casts wounds into oblivion,
And their Rose since then is cut into the middle.
There people like to drink the drug of Ghostly World,
Smoking promises of freedom being just Animal Farm's tools.
Transition of past Pride to Democracy mask
Where those past Penguins still raise their right arm.
Oh, Lullaby! Where have Thou been hidding?
Penguins know nothing about life, but to dive into the seas
Collecting food for another piggybank's session.
Penguins just want then to stop wonder,
Freedom and Justice are words humbled into idioms.
Rights have become the Bible of those without faith,
Where that ridiculous mineral has nothing to do with it.
This warble is a hope of a hopeless almost bird,
Rocked in the 20th of November early morning.
Even if it hurt them thirty five years have past
And at their throne remains the same paricide Pinguins.
Keep warm the cries, my dearest descendent,
In this peninsula Byron's dying.
The King Penguin devoured the last innards of dreams,
And since then our Rose is rotten in one of the middles.