New songs of freedom
The blind wells of the night,
feeling veils of light,
capture the fineness
of a sky without a cry.
The wind made its bed
in the vastness. Birds
won't fly around the weathervanes
in the high clement light.
But, when more wet
with blood, in the old field
it is already dawn, and I sing
new songs of freedom.
Writer/s: Salvador Espriu, Raimon
