They call me Pablo the painter
This land is not my home
But I love my art
So I choose to live
Where the value of art is known
I stand before this canvas
That fills the entire room
And there's a story
I must tell
Of an April afternoon
Far away in the distance
A small speck appears
And like an angry insect
The swelling sound
Of danger death and fear
I close my eyes to remember
Fond images of Spain
Now a tortured
Country tossed
On an endless sea of pain
I see the bulls and the picadors
Blood upon the sand
And my dark-eyed
Senorita with
A candle in her hand
Black bombs come raining
From a silk cerulean sky
And in the smoke, the ash and the flame
The people fall
Scream and choke and cry
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
A newspaper horse is dying
It falls down to the floor
I'll tell this story
In black and white
For sometimes less is more
And I will paint these voices
I hear them in my head
They tell me terror
Stalks the land
And innocence is dead
And all the vibrant colours
As spring returns to Spain
Were blacked out in an instant
And nothing there
Will ever be the same
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
This land is not my home
But I love my art
So I choose to live
Where the value of art is known
I stand before this canvas
That fills the entire room
And there's a story
I must tell
Of an April afternoon
Far away in the distance
A small speck appears
And like an angry insect
The swelling sound
Of danger death and fear
I close my eyes to remember
Fond images of Spain
Now a tortured
Country tossed
On an endless sea of pain
I see the bulls and the picadors
Blood upon the sand
And my dark-eyed
Senorita with
A candle in her hand
Black bombs come raining
From a silk cerulean sky
And in the smoke, the ash and the flame
The people fall
Scream and choke and cry
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
A newspaper horse is dying
It falls down to the floor
I'll tell this story
In black and white
For sometimes less is more
And I will paint these voices
I hear them in my head
They tell me terror
Stalks the land
And innocence is dead
And all the vibrant colours
As spring returns to Spain
Were blacked out in an instant
And nothing there
Will ever be the same
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
Guernica calling to the world
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