Dreadful dreams in days of darkness,
Mysterious light of sorrow and sadness,
Heat from hell, hunts my heart,
As terrorist terrorize the territory.
Anini; terror in broad day light,
Preferred by the perishing poor,
The rich’s notorious enemy friend,
Echoing songs of the victorious victims.
Currency filtered like a withered leave in the forest,
Everlasting prayer of a dying soul,
Anini; as the living memory lies.
Black men’s blood,
Painted round the four territorial walls,
Anini; ‘heaven-hell’ cries for you,
The cry covered by the pregnant cloud,
Anini; your remains is buried in the heart of the poor,
Picaroon of our honored past.