Zhanaozen - 1

1.After a quarter of a century, In December, the one that was suppressed, The sleeping spirit of the Kazakhs, Erupted like a volcano in Zhanaozen. Shots were fired at the people!!! Children chasing their dreams, Brothers with their big goals, Mothers who nurtured with their milk, Sighed with regret!!! The spirit of Kenesary has risen from the grave, Stained with red blood immediately at awake. It was revived as the mournful Zhanaozen, Upon revival, it was as a shooting target! In the sacred Mangystau, it was reborn, The honor of all Kazakhs has been resurrected!!! Those who came to power with deceit, The same old henchmen, Met them head-on. With the same old curse around their necks!!! The same old executioners stood against them, Their hearts were dead before of born. Tangled in their trap, The same harsh soul with shallow thoughts. Composed of an incompatible fairy tale, The same old trickery!!! The spirit of the Kazakhs is not afraid of them, With the spear of truth in hand, It pierced the fry and brought them up from the puddle, Making them cry out on the water's surface. Unfazed by the death raining down like bullets, The SPIRIT smiled boldly: -Your end is drawing near, -My day is about to dawn, As the death shots rained left and right, Treacherous government, executioners, They let go, trembling in fear!!!