| Salvador, your father named you
|
| After a dead brother
|
| And your mother hung the cross upside down
|
| Salvador, so much of time hung over
|
| Old men’s sleeves
|
| The prick of guilt’s thorn rusted and worn
|
| Sewn into our hearts in the shape of a star
|
| Up the alley I stop at a window
|
| Through the curtains I see
|
| Figures moving, figures swaying
|
| Figures talking in time
|
| Paintings of persistence
|
| Paintings of persistence hung like a jury
|
| Searching and seeking
|
| Silent icons I wipe the dust from my hands
|
| Salvador, no one believes me
|
| But I swear I know what I’m doing
|
| And once you were painting
|
| The ground you were breaking
|
| But it? |
| s never enough to gain their approval
|
| Up the alley, the window is broken
|
| The sky’s on the ground
|
| They unravel the rope of unreason
|
| They will hang me for sure
|
| Searching and seeking their silent icons
|
| They wipe the blood from their hands
|
| Salvador, they want a savior
|
| And they crowned you king
|
| They begged you for answers
|
| But the glory or fame took away time
|
| From your obligations
|
| Keep on sleeping, don? |
| t awake from this dream
|
| I? |
| ll comb your mustache, I’ll wipe your body
|
| I’ll kiss your feet when they take you
|
| Down from the cross |