| Come, tell me, Ibrahim, about this day that you’ll remember
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| Tell the story over to be sure it really happened
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| How you gathered in a circle to protect your kneeling brothers
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| Amid the howling of the sirens and the stutter of the gunfire
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| Ahmed shaking hands coming late into the Square
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| Clean clothes and looking good for the People’s Revolution
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| For you cannot choose a time you may be chosen for a martyr
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| Pushing through the soldiers, smile as wide as ever
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| And at night on the great river the party boats pass
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| And the music and lights float away in the darkness
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| We’re sailing with only the sound of our voices and the water
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| And the man pulls on his cigarette and pulls the boat round
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| And we all fall forward, tumbling and laughing
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| And the bright-eyed boy watches his father
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| Listening and feeling and learning to read the wind
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| 250 miles south-west and into the Sahara
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| The white stone figures tower away to the horizon
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| I’m like a pawn in a chess game gazing up in fear
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| For in these great games of power, they sacrifice their children
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| And in the black velvet night, we built our little fire
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| And watched the desert foxes daring to come closer
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| Our broken conversations eaten by the silence
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| Just the crackle of the flames and a billion stars above us
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| And they tell me god is great but this I’ve never doubted
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| We each find wonder in the sky and the mountains
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| In the waves of people gathered and waiting
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| Listening and feeling and learning to read the wind
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| Lazy flies, sugar sweet teas
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| Winter chill, flame-fire trees
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| The great eucalyptus watching and waving
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| As the crowds come now from every direction
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| They tell me god is great but this I’ve never doubted
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| We each find wonder in the sky and in the mountains
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| In the hot scalding winds that will come from the desert
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| Hot enough for drying all the blood that has fallen
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| And at night on the great river the party boats pass
|
| And the music and lights float away in the darkness
|
| We’re sailing with only the sound of our voices and the water
|
| And the man pulls on his cigarette and pulls us around
|
| And we all fall forward, tumbling and laughing
|
| And the bright-eyed boy watches his father
|
| Listening and feeling and learning to read the wind |