http://youtu.be/Y53qSWkIacY


Death stepped out on the street one day
In that place that was named for nothing
A ruby-red drop, on the pavement, falls
And a river of blood flows from an open breast.

The wind that blows through the reeds
And the scythe of a reaper woman of Portugal
And the sound of the anvil, like a clarinet from the sky
Are spreading the news that the painter is dead.

Your blood, Painter, calls equally for a death
Only an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth matter
That murderous law, the death that killed you
Your body belongs to the land that is you.

Here, therefore, we swear tooth for tooth
That one-day those who laugh last will laugh best
At the turn in the road there are holes in the ground
And from them all of them will grow the roses of a nation.