My forefathers spoke the truth as they saw it,
For the glory of mankind, for honour's sake,
For the eternal light.
This blood became a beacon for all those who stood
                                                    against tyranny.
And the blood flowing on battlefields.
On crucifiers, in prisons, declared their existence.
That blood was evidence of man's honour,
Was a symbol of the eternal light.

And here am I, the barefoot man
On the highway of need.
Enchained, and compromised by common comforts,
I find myself watching —thinking —
If the blood of these forefathers flows in my veins,
Why doesn't it cry out?