Goodbye, Mr. Pinochet

They Dance Alone - Sting, "Nothing Like The Sun" (1987)


One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance

Hey Mr. Pinochet

You've sown a bitter crop
It's foreign money that supports you
One day the money's going to stop
No wages for your torturers
No budget for your guns
Can you think of your own mother
Dancin' with her invisible son?


Letra integral

(as pan pipes lixam um bocado a cabeça, mas a música era mais que apropriada)

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