It's a town which I know
A song I was singing.
There's blood on the sidewalk.
It's his voice, burnt dust,
It's his nails on the shielding.
They beat him to death; he's cold, scared, I hear his heartbeat.
From any country, of any color.
"For all foreigners and all natives"1
He lived with words
Which we pass under the cloak2
Which shone like knives.
He was playing with the derision
Like a weapon of precision.
He's on cement, but his dammit songs,
We know them by heart.
Music sometimes has major chords
That make children laugh but not the dictators.
From any country, of any color.
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
It depends on the latitudes.
It depends on your attitude.
It's a hundred years of solitude.
There's blood on my piano.
There are boots on my tempo.
Under the volcano, I hear it, I hear it
I hear his heartbeat.
Music sometimes has minor chords
Which make cringe the teeth of the great liberator.
From any country, of any color,
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
It's a town that I know.
A song that I was singing;
A song that resembles us.
This is Mandela's voice,
The tempo of doctor Fela.
Listen to the crowd singing
With your words that roll and make its heartbeat.
From any country, of any color,
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
From any country, of any color,
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
From any country, of any color,
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
"For all foreigners and all natives",
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
"For all foreigners and all natives",
Music is a cry that comes from the inner.
"For all foreigners and all natives" ...
1. "Po Na Ba Mboka Nionso Pe Na Pikolo Nionso" (translation in English from Setho - African language)2. The French expression "Vendre sous le manteau" (To sell under the cloak) means: Sell without authorization, practice black market. It's the same with "pass under the cloak," which means to pass propaganda, pamphlets while avoiding censorship, in secret, discreetly without being seen so as not to be put under arrest.