I see myself as Wepwawet,
Who opens the gates of Duat.
From those gates come plague,
Enslavement,
Genocide.
A forest torn down in Brazil,
Heads cut in Timor,
Slave ships in the Atlantic.

Is this my legacy, oh Empire
Where the sun never sets?

No.

I love my tongue but not my hands.
I love my soul but not my spirit,
Destined to join my ancestors.

I am me,
I am the white oak,
And I reject this parody of Lusitania.

"Lusophone", you say?
I don't even type in my mother tongue.

Apologise, Portugal.