There once was a land, once so free,
Where voices could rise, bold and robust,
But now, in the grip of a cruel decree,
The iron fist tightens, silencing the song.
The winds of dissent, once unchained,
Now wither and die, hope's embers stained.
The halls of democracy, once bright and bold,
Grown, dim and decrepit, their purpose lost,
Replaced by a tyranny, cold and cold,
Where dissent is a crime, and dissenters cross,
The line of oppression, their voices unheard,
Justice is a shadow, a phantom, a word.
They speak of a future, a socialist dream,
Where all are equal, a utopian scheme,
But the reality bites, harsh and obscene,
A cage of conformity, a totalitarian theme.
The chains of control, heavy and tight,
Dim the flicker of hope, swallowed by night.
A flicker of hope, though, still faintly burns,
A spark of resistance, a whisper that yearns,
For freedom's return, for the dawn that returns,
The embers of justice, with passion that churns.
For freedom's echo, though silenced today,
Will rise again someday, come what may.
