Tropic Moon - Bruce Cockburn

    Away from the river
    Away from the smoke of the burning
    Fearful survivors
    Subject of government directives
    One sad guitar note
    Echoes of the wall of the jungle
    Seen from the air they're just targets with nowhere to run to

    Children of rape
    Raised on malnutrition
    Men in camouflage
    Filled with a sense of mission
    Light through the wire mesh
    Plays on the president's pistol
    Like the gleam of a bead of sweat in the flow of a candle

    Hear the cry in the tropic night
    Should be the cry of love but it's a cry of fright
    Some people never see the light
    Till it shines through bullet holes

    The tropic moon
    Bathing a beach fringed with palms
    Glitters on shells
    And beach tar and coke cans
    And on the night-coloured boat
    And on the barrels of guns
    In the rage in the hearts of these men is the seed of a wind they call
    Kingdom Come

    Hear the cry...

    (Sardegna  4/6/82)


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