Red the colour of freedom

Red the colour of freedom

Red, the cry of broken chains,

A silent scream in open veins.

No gentle hue, no soft embrace,

Just fire’s mark across a face.

The weight has gone, the shackles fall,

Yet echoes scrape along the wall.

A hollow breath, a burning thread,

Freedom walks in shades of red.

Red, the wound that will not close,

A hidden scar that no one shows.

It stains the sky, it paints the ground,

A silent rage without a sound.

The chains are dust, but still they cling,

A severed cord, a broken string.

No tender dawn, no peace ahead,

Just empty hands and rivers red.

Red, the bite of severed ties,

A rebel’s heart, a martyr’s cries.

No gentle peace, no sweet release,

Just silent wars that never cease.

It drips like rain from open scars,

A distant flame, a sky of bars.

The taste of iron, sharp and raw,

A freedom won with tooth and claw.

No golden dawn, no soft embrace,

Just bloodied hands and hollow space.

A battle fought, a price unsaid,

And every road still runs in red.