34 lines
1.0 KiB
Plaintext
34 lines
1.0 KiB
Plaintext
The Ballad of Victor Jara
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I'll sing you a song about a guitarist,
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He was the leader of the Chilean boys and idol,
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I'll sing you a song about gay Marxist,
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He played the guitar and listening to the whole world.
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But imagine that this guitar
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For the Nazis terrible, if the conscience of the earth.
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In September, the interrogation took Victor Jara
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And his guitar for questioning led away.
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That he could not run - it tightly tied,
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To live, he could not - was shot in the night,
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To play, he could not - he broke his hands -
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And the songs, the guys have their own executioners.
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With blue Cordillera open distance,
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Ocean winds ring, as a string.
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And his guitar broke boots -
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And therefore guitar is terrible.
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Unfinished turns into a century old,
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But not all of his songs, alas, good.
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And she does not play the guitar,
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And given to man as the voice of the soul.
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So play well, my friends! Beat in your guitar!
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Resurrect the ranks of the great names!
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That in your hands the hands of Victor Jara
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have continued a song coming times.
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1973 |