The hands of Victor Jara
Were chopped off at the wrists
But still they point a finger
And they raise a mighty fist
There is a revolution
It might be in your backyard
It might be some place like Chile
Or it might be in your heart
The voice of Victor Jara
Was cut out at the tongue
But that does not stop the singing
Songs need to be sung
He sang about his people
They were not the privileged few
And nothing that's dictated
Will ever ring as true
The blood of Victor Jara
Will never wash away
It just keeps on turning
A little redder every day
As anger turns to hatred
And hatred turns to guns
Children lose their fathers
And mothers lose their sons
The soul of Victor Jara
Hangs on a white cross
Life was his religion
Not for sale at any cost
He defied the generals' orders
By not singing their refrain
In front of all those frightened people
He did not give his life in vain
The hands of Victor Jara
They're strumming the guitar
Down in the Paris Metro
Or in front of the Kerrtry Store
And they hold onto a promise
That torture cannot break
Truer than the average, the hands of Victors Jara
They do not shake
Were chopped off at the wrists
But still they point a finger
And they raise a mighty fist
There is a revolution
It might be in your backyard
It might be some place like Chile
Or it might be in your heart
The voice of Victor Jara
Was cut out at the tongue
But that does not stop the singing
Songs need to be sung
He sang about his people
They were not the privileged few
And nothing that's dictated
Will ever ring as true
The blood of Victor Jara
Will never wash away
It just keeps on turning
A little redder every day
As anger turns to hatred
And hatred turns to guns
Children lose their fathers
And mothers lose their sons
The soul of Victor Jara
Hangs on a white cross
Life was his religion
Not for sale at any cost
He defied the generals' orders
By not singing their refrain
In front of all those frightened people
He did not give his life in vain
The hands of Victor Jara
They're strumming the guitar
Down in the Paris Metro
Or in front of the Kerrtry Store
And they hold onto a promise
That torture cannot break
Truer than the average, the hands of Victors Jara
They do not shake
Contributed by Riccardo Venturi - 2005/11/16 - 00:59
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Letters in the dirt
Lyrics and Music by Chuck Brodsky
Testo e musica di Chuck Brodsky
http://polsong.gcal.ac.uk/songs/brodsk...