| I never wonder if my son is in the square
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| If he believes in God, if he has a girlfriend
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| I just bought a motorcycle and looked forward to it
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| The pimples that are disappearing on her cheek
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| I haven't been in his room for months now
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| Full of Chinese posters and books
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| I smile at her photo of him indifferent
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| While he makes his first communion in the midst of so many people
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| But yesterday my son told me "Can't you hear dad,
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| The wolves have gone down again, you don't hear them in the city,
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| You never understood me, but I made the cards,
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| The wolves have come down from the mountains again "
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| I never wonder what my son is doing around
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| Taking his breath for a walk in the night
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| And I think when someone at the pharmacist
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| He says they killed another thug
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| Never ask yourself if your son is in the square
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| Because one day my son slipped on his card
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| I believed him on the moon with his generation
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| Instead he died in a demonstration
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| But yesterday in the morgue I looked anxiously at his cheek
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| There was a small red hole like the ace of a card
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| I was seeing his jeans washed for the first time
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| Her sweater of him and her desperate hair
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| And I found myself in the ravine of a mirror
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| To look at all my vile affection
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| But I who do not read the newspapers that I could do
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| I looked at the wolves ... and I let them go ... |