Joan Baez - Juan de la Cruz - Текст песни

(Words and Music by Joan Baez) 

Once again the workers rise with the lark 
There's a mass going on in the people's park 
Silent and determined they set to embark 
On a three day fast and a five mile march 
For a man's been shot on the picket line 
Sixty years of strength was young for dying 
His family is here with eyes of red 
His wife steps down with feet of lead 

And the sun shines down upon 
The old man whose days are done 
For a martyr has been taken 
He is old Juan de la Cruz 

And a century of women pray 
At the casket before them laid 
And the Virgin of Guadalupe 
Watches over de la Cruz 

As the heat poured down on the field below 
The lead came a-flying from the vineyard row 
De la Cruz and his wife never ducked or ran 
Union folks since the fight began 
People scattered out laying low to the ground 
And slowly arose as the dust died down 
Birds fluttered soft in his sweet wife's breast 
As the bullets sank deep in the old man's chest 

The tears fell as Cesar read 
The eulogy for the dead 
And the Bishop broke the people's bread 
Over old Juan de la Cruz 

In the pitch of night a deal was made 
The deck's oldest card was played 
And the devil watched someone get paid 
For the death of de la Cruz 

Thirty years ago in the same damn spot 
The people who ordered the workers shot 
Fought as the poor for the same damn right 
Of their children to sleep well fed at night 
Oh Children of Brotherhood how you've grown 
But the seeds of hate were early sown 
I see that your souls have long since flown 
To the river of greed where angels moan 

Midst flowered veils and weathered graves 
And flags where the great black eagle waves 
Nosotros Venceremos plays 
For old Juan de la Cruz 

There's work today that must be done 
Pray for the man who held the gun 
And with sightless eyes shot down the one 
Called old Juan de la Cruz 

The rest of our story now soft and clear 
How half our daily bread appears 
Picked through the summer by young and old 
Whose earnings must last through the winter's cold 
By children who have stood with their backs bent down 
To scrape the roots from the grower's ground 
And mothers who have wept the night away 
For a child born dead on a rainy day 

Well it's true that blessed are the poor 
Through an iron mist - I can't be sure - 
It looks like I see heaven's door 
Swinging wide for de la Cruz 

The nuns, the priests and the workers sing 
Through a valley of blood their voices ring 
Hallelujah, he is risen, and thank you, Lord 
For old Juan de la Cruz 

Hallelujah, he is risen, and thank you, Lord 
For old Juan de la Cruz