| A girl cries in the early morning
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| Woken by the sound of a gun
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| She knows somewhere somebody’s dying
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| Beneath the rising sun
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| Outside the window of her cabaña
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| The shadows are full of her fears
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| She knows her lover is out there somewhere
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| He’s been on the run for a year
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| Oh, the soul of El Salvador
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| The bells ring out in the chapel steeple
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| A priest prepares to say mass
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| The sad congregation come tired and hungry
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| To pray that troubles will pass
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| Meanwhile the sun rises over the dusty streets
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| Where the crowd gathers round
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| Flies and mosquitoes are drinking from pools of blood
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| Where his body is found
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| Oh, the soul of El Salvador
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| Out on the ranch the rich man’s preparing
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| To go for his morning ride
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| They’ve saddled his horse out in the corral
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| He walks out full of pride
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| He looks like a cowboy in one of those pictures
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| A president made in the past
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| Peasants in rags, they stand back for they know
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| That El Rico gallops fast
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| Over the soul of El Salvador |