fuss, like childrens blood.

    Jackals t the jackals would despise,

    stones t tle e on and spit out,

    vipers t te!

    Face to face he blood

    of Spain toide

    to drown you in one wave

    of pride and knives!

    treacherous

    generals:

    see my dead house,

    look at broken Spain :

    from every al flows

    instead of flowers,

    from every socket of Spain

    Spain emerges

    and from every dead ch eyes,

    and from every crime bullets are born

    which will one day find

    ts.

    And youll ask: w ry

    speak of dreams and leaves

    and t volcanoes of ive land?

    Come and see treets.

    Come and see

    treets.

    Come and see the blood

    In treets!