It was the time
Maria was young and fine

News in the radio
Breaking silence of shadows

Maria’s daddy was shot
Nobody knew what he had shot at

Maria ran out on the streets
Streets to the death and shits

She found bullets in his head
And a sonnet in his pocket

She dug the soil of his garden
Buried him with a garland

Turned her head to the captain
Said, “Thought you been kind.”

Maria ran away with her red eyes
Looking at the setting sun and the sky

Flowers shattering into petals and stamens
Wind humming what tomorrow might bring

Maria has become a bed story
But there is yet, to come, a glory

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