In the wind a distant echo whispers,
memories of dreams that burned in flames,
an October of shadows, lights and screams,
where hope blossomed among the bullets.

Paths of struggle, of torn fervor,
blood sown on the wounded earth,
faces rise, forgotten heroes,
their gazes guard the lost history.

Starry night, under the blanket of stars,
sighs float like dancing leaves,
an eternal lament, the voice of the dead,
demands justice in the advancing breeze.

Vibrant squares, today empty echoes,
the dust of time covers the paths,
and in every corner, somber memories
resonate in chorus, accurate whispers.

October looks at us with its face of sorrow,
melancholy that stains the wounded soul,
but in every tear, in every chain,
there is a burning fire that is never forgotten.

So we continue, with the burden of yesterday,
with the living memory beating in our chest,
sweet melancholy, a song of being,
of an eternal October that continues to live.