The Song of the People
(Image source: teilzethelden.de)
The song danced on many lips in the crowded stadium. The song no longer felt sad; it was a forgotten song, rediscovered by a dictator. Rather reinvented. “Whoever is taking me back to the limelight, I will not complain. I do not judge because I have wanted this for more than half a century,” sighed the song when there was a pause.
“This song is in our blood and our ancestor’s souls. I want to bring you those days of valour and honesty. When I hear this song, my heart is full of joy,” he said.
The song felt a pang of guilt inside. She felt her momentary hope slip into a premonition of terrible things coming. Earlier, she had a peek into his soul when he was singing, and she had flinched, sensing a darkness beyond evil. “I am helping him! I wish I could fly away,” she thought.
The dictator had moved on from the song to the looming war with the neighbours. “Oh, soon I will have to wear a new attire, and the remix will surely be a military marching song. So this is his gameplan,” the song felt creepy and insecure.
Then the loudspeakers caught her. She was thrown in the air like a violent blow. She was shattered and shredded by the time a hundred lips caught her. Those hundred throats tried to weave her back into the soulfulness she once had. Those hundred souls were trembling from unknown fears and a known madness. They filled her with new tunes of fear, pride and vengeance.
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