Some time ago a child asked me
For the meaning of the word "Motherland"
He surprised me with this question
He surprised me with this question
And with my soul in my throat
I told him this
A neighborhood flower, little brother
Motherland is no many beautiful things
Like that old tree which the poem speaks about
Like the love you still cherish after grandma has died
Motherland is so many beautiful things
They are the walls of your neighborhood
With the their brown hope
Is carried in the souls of all who leave
It's the martyr's who cry: Flag, Flag, Flag, Flag
Don't memorize lessons of dictatorship or imprisonment
Motherland is not define by those who enslave a country
Motherland is a feeling in an old man's gaze
Sun of eternal springs
The laughter of a new little sister
I Tell you little brother
Motherland is so many beautiful things
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