Who was here when they handed out the heavy jobs
Jobs with the hammer, the pick and shovel
Who choked in the foundry, froze at the fish docks,
Eight days to the week?
Who was here with a mile of rock above him,
Three-foot seam in the darkness crouching
Stinging sweat in his eyes, powdered rock in his spittle
A hundred minutes to the hour?
Who was here in the furrowed fields stooped over
Pain shapes the question in bone and muscle
Roots and hands competing, fumbling, groping
Twenty-eight hours to the day?
Who was here in a world of steam and clamour
Feeding Leviathan in his cavern
Breathing the hot sharp stink of metal
Five weeks to the month?
Hey you, dog's body, what do they call you?
Who cleans up the mess when the fighting's over?
Who carries the broom, the mop and the bucket
Thirty-six months to the year?
Smooth-faced old boy-men instructed him
Geldings programmed his energy
Coached in running by men whose arches had fallen
Dead men told him how to live.
Kilroy, Kilroy—where has Kilroy gone?
Kilroy was here, see there's his mark.
He came this way, he was wearing his number.
Did nobody see him pass?
Jobs with the hammer, the pick and shovel
Who choked in the foundry, froze at the fish docks,
Eight days to the week?
Who was here with a mile of rock above him,
Three-foot seam in the darkness crouching
Stinging sweat in his eyes, powdered rock in his spittle
A hundred minutes to the hour?
Who was here in the furrowed fields stooped over
Pain shapes the question in bone and muscle
Roots and hands competing, fumbling, groping
Twenty-eight hours to the day?
Who was here in a world of steam and clamour
Feeding Leviathan in his cavern
Breathing the hot sharp stink of metal
Five weeks to the month?
Hey you, dog's body, what do they call you?
Who cleans up the mess when the fighting's over?
Who carries the broom, the mop and the bucket
Thirty-six months to the year?
Smooth-faced old boy-men instructed him
Geldings programmed his energy
Coached in running by men whose arches had fallen
Dead men told him how to live.
Kilroy, Kilroy—where has Kilroy gone?
Kilroy was here, see there's his mark.
He came this way, he was wearing his number.
Did nobody see him pass?
envoyé par Bernart Bartleby - 29/7/2015 - 11:29
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Il brano che dà il titolo al suo disco del 1980, con Peggy Seeger
Una canzone tremenda, che fra l’altro mi ha ricordato una scena di un bellissimo film, “The Shawshank Redemption” (“Le ali della libertà”, 1994), protagonisti Tim Robbins e Morgan Freeman, quella in cui il vecchio ergastolano Brooks (interpretato da James Allen Whitmore, Jr.), viene rimesso in libertà dopo oltre 50 anni passati in galera e non riesce più a sopportare la realtà fuori dalle mura del carcere. “Brooks was here”, incide sulla trave della sua squallida stanza prima di impiccarsi…
Brooks e Kilroy sono stati qui, con le loro divise ed il loro numero, questo è il segno che sono passati di qui, nessuno li ha visti?