Tytuł: The mines of Mozambique

• Wykonawca: Bruce Cockburn
• Wyświetleń: 322

There's a broad river winding
   through this African lowland
   The moon is held up orange and big
   See it raise its hand
   And the last ferry's pulling out
   with no place left to stand
   for the mines of Mozambique
  
   There's a wealth of amputation
   waiting in the ground
   But no one can remember
   where they put it down
   If you're the child that finds it there
   You will rise upon the sound
   of the mines of Mozambique
  
   Some men rob the passersby
   for a bit of cash to spend
   Some men rob whole countries dry
   and still get called their friend
   And under the feeding frenzy
   There's a wound that will not mend
   in the mines of Mozambique
  
   (Bridge)
   Night, like peace, is a state of suspension. Tomorrow the heat will
   rise and mist will hide the marshy fields, the mango and the cashew
   trees, which only now they're clearing brush from under. Rusted husks
   of blown up trucks line the roadway north of town, like passing
   through a sculpture gallery. War is the artist, but he's sleeping now.
   And somebody will be peddling vials of penicillin stolen out of all
   the medical kits sent to the countryside. And in the bare workshop
   they'll be molding plastic into little prosthetic legs for the
   children of this artist and for those who farm the soil that received
   his bitter seed.
  
   The all night stragglers stagger home
   Cocks begin to crow
   And singing birds are starting up
   telling what they know
   And after awhile the sun will come
   and we'll see what it will show
   of the mines of Mozambique