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Who Reaps The Profit?

Leon Rosselson
Language: English


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(Leon Rosselson)


[1981]
Album "Bringing The News From Nowhere"
Compare anche nella compilation "Bullets and Guitars" realizzata dal Vancouver Folk Music Festival.

Testo trovato su Broadside Magazine n. 186 del settembre 1988.
You sit there handing down orders - you examine the terms of the deal
A car is always waiting - other hands turn the wheel
The doors slide open before you - the doors slide shut behind
Other hands carry your luggage - weightier matters engage your mind
You take the gold out of the earth, you throw the corpses in
One crop is as good as another as long as the cash keeps pouring in
The wheels must never stop turning, the machine must be obeyed
The future has got to be fuelled, and there's a price to be paid

Black like the dust, brown like the earth
This is our land, the land of our birth

Silently digging, digging our graves
Choking our bodies, choking our lives
Living on scraps, dying in debt
Digging in darkness so our children can eat

Once we were free, greeting the sun
Sharing the earth, giving thanks to the corn
Sang with the waters, sang with the wind
Danced with the drum, circle without end

Now we are silent, they have taken our tongues
They have taken our pride, they have taken our songs
Only our bodies, only our eyes
Burn with the memory of the old ways

Brown like the earth, black like the dust
Who can we turn to, who can we trust

You've got no patience with failure - you've got no time for delay
Certainty points to the future - straight lines carve out the way
You never make moral judgements - only one truth you defend
Money must be free to make money - that's all there is in the end
You take the diamonds out of the earth, you throw the corpses in
One crop is as good as another as long as the cash keeps pouring in
The wheels must never stop turning, the machine must be obeyed
The future has got to be fuelled, and there's a price to be paid

Brown like the earth, black like the dust,
Who can we turn to, who can we trust

The gun is their God, they have taken our land
They take what we dig, they take without end
We drown in the dust, we choke in the heat
Our skin grows sores, our lungs rot

Still we remember the cold clear air
Waking at dawn with the morning star
Still we remember the sound of the flute
The feel of the grass under our feet

Death may come quickly if the mine floods
If the rock talks, if the gas explodes
Mostly we linger on death's cold bed
Clutching for air, coughing up blood

Nobody cares, nobody sees
We make no headlines, dying by degrees

A thousand shapes wait to attend you - the ones who drive your cars
Who reserve your place at the table - who order your daily cigars
Who silently guard your privacy - who make sure your ties are new
Who remind you of your appointments - you know that they all depend on you
You take the uranium out of the earth, you throw the corpses in
One crop is as good as another as long as the cash keeps pouring in
The wheels must never stop turning, the machine must be obeyed
The future has got to be fuelled, and there's a price to be paid

Nobody cares, nobody sees
We make no headline, dying by degrees

What choice do we have - they've taken our homes
We wait in silence, our time will come
They tear from the earth, they leave nothing behind
Only raw scars on a waste land

Some day and soon the mountains will shake
The drum will sound, the sun will turn black
And from out of the dust and from under the earth
We will arise, proclaiming this truth

All life is sacred, all life is one
From the rocks on the mountain to the children to come

And the walls will topple, and the fences will fall
And the scars will be healed and the earth will be whole

This is our land, the land of our birth
Black like the dust, brown like the earth

You never carry money - you like your life ordered and clean
You make out cheques to charity - no one can call you mean
Through your double-locked gateways - only the privileged pass
Admire your taste and elegance - marvels of marble and silver and glass
You take the earth out of the earth, you throw the corpses in
One crop is as good as another as long as the cash keeps pouring in
The wheels must never stop turning, the machine must be obeyed
The future has got to be fuelled, and there's a price to be paid

Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/1/14 - 11:31



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