Walked through the black of the night
Slipped through the ink of the dead
Cocked his beret so the pain in his head left his eyes
And traveled straight to his dreams, his dreams


Wrestled with taking his life
Remembered the land that he farmed
His children s lithe spirits dissolved in his arms, his aching arms
His patience has gone, the fever begins
to burn a vengeance, to brand a life within, it sears, it sears....


To feel the pain, to trust the pain: Tristeza, donde estas?


I woke to a dream about smoke
Suffocation, then laughter, a little, then light,
then the slamming of doors, the hiding in barrels
The acid-gouged face of nostalgia was waiting for fire, for fire


Smashed the window wide, checked for life inside
Found a badge that blared for no one


Whose child is this? Whose home is this? Whose soul is this?


The CAUSE
Pulling amnesia through cases of wine
The amplification of the broad and the narrow and the few left behind
The few left behind
The strength of the sighs of the few left behind


Historia habla siempre de los muertos
Y de las vacas negras con flores rojas
No quiero ser una hormiga en las bocas de los muertos
Aqui tengo el martillo para romper este vidrio brillante
que celebra una cultura muerta


Snapped like a photo in dreams,
the passing of light on a denser reminder of faded extinction
The corners leak, the razing fire
the crimson screams, the bloodless eyes


Smashed the window wide, checked for life inside
Found a badge that blared for no one, no one left...


Cracked through the light,
refracting the flash,
The patience of time,
and peace at last . . .