In 1945 all the lime trees were bright,
Monotonous and dangerous was that monastic light.
We were just stone-hearted kids that only lived
In my heart, in your heart.

Bombs were exploding at a few graveyards –
As poor as we were, didn’t have a pack of cards;
Just played football with the white skulls of the dead
at the graveyard, the graveyard.

We just wanted to [bad word] gold diggers now
With a pure heart of hope protected by Pan Tau.
But we still played at the graveyard thinking of
Jam tart, Jam tart.

Surviving as an army of children football teams,
naked, yawning Galicia of our broken dreams.
Hundred barrows of pork for those who won the match
At the graveyard, the graveyard.

Oh, you see it, like a bolt from the blue –
We gonna swim in a kind of aorta at night.
Oh, you feel it, it’s like a hot melt glue –
We gonna go back and fight, what we loved inside.
Oh, I see it, like a bolt from the blue –
We gonna blow them a kiss, we gonna kill them!
Oh, they’ll feel it, they will feel it, too –
We gonna show them, alright,
what it means to be abandoned...

In my heart, in your heart.
At the graveyard, the graveyard.