I grew up in Rio de Janeiro state, to my grandfather who was governor of Colombia to my father who was a corrupt policeman. The whole empire had been swollen by this song of death providence hells blood leaking towards the favela. The bullets would fray the walls ricochet bits everywhere, and mama would be so strong with all war noises going on beneath the wind which surrounded outside our shanty however it was out there my grandfather’s song will never be stopped or forgotten. I’m wondering in my thoughts for my own freedom to roam the world and make it hell.