The blood that runs through my veins,

Like the knowledge I inhale through my eyes,

And the experiences that I exhale with broken sighs,

Carries within it that of my culture;

My ancestors take root in my heart—

They breathe into me a new life,

And show me the way they suffered

At the hands of those who invaded,

Who took our land and claimed our souls.

My ancestor's blood runs through me,

And I feel their anger in my fists.

As the colonizers take hold of our land,

Pushed out our culture from our hands,

And ripped our language from our lips.

As our people are put through it once again,

When 1848 called our people a pain,

And our land their gain,

Through broken promises yet again,

And the trade of our labor for a name.