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And you, O friends, put on your black paint, for war, for the path of victory; let us lay hands on our shields, and raise aloft our strength and courage. Zan tlaocolxochitl, tlaocolcuicatl on mania Mexico nican ha in Tlatilolco, in yece ye oncan on neiximachoyan, ohuaya. Only sad flowers, sad songs, are here in Mexico, in Tlatilolco, in this place these alone are known, alas.
We have angered Him, we are only wretched beings, slaves by blood; we have seen and known affliction, alas. Ticmomoyahua, ticxoxocoyan in momacehualy in Tlatilolco cococ moteca cococ ye machoyan ye ic ticiahuia ipalnemoani, ohuaya.
The present poem is represented to be a composition of one of these prisoners when he and his companions were confined in Tlatilolco, one of the suburbs of Tenochtitlan. It breathes hatred against his captors and an ardent thirst for vengeance.
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