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Natives

  • (Paul Doran)

    For all our languages we can't communicate
    For all our native tongues we're all natives here
    Sons of their fathers, dream the same dream
    The sound of forbidden words becomes a scream
    Voices in anger, victims of history
    Plundered and set aside, grown fat on swallowed pride

    With promises of paradise and gifts of beads and knives
    Missionaries and pioneers are soldiers in disguise
    Survivors and conquerers, they make us wait
    The fishers of men, they wave their truth like bait
    With the touch of a stranger's hand innocence turns to shame
    The spirit that dwelt within, it sleeps out in the rain

    For all of our languages we can't communicate
    For all of our native tongues we're all natives here
    The scars of the past are slow to disappear
    The cries of the dead are always in our ears
    Only the very safe can talk about wrong and right
    Of those who are forced to choose some will choose to fight

    For all of our languages we can't communicate

    (as sung by Christy Moore)

Susannes Folksong-Notizen

  • nothing / nichts

Quelle: Ireland

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Henry
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aktualisiert am 26.04.2002