April dawn |
The years that passed in anonymity |
Abandoned to our silent misery |
The cold stone of the tavern floor |
The black shawls that our women wore |
For blood shed in a pointless war |
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The tortured lives enclosed by high white walls |
The hopeless waiting in the endless halls |
The hand of judgement always near |
The furtive glances born of fear |
The quick words whispered in a mear |
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And while the seasons passed, the furtile fields lay fallow |
A sad neglected legacy |
The time had come to plant the seeds for our tomorrow |
To sow a future strong and free |
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For half a century we lived and slaved |
Deprived of that for which our spirits craved |
The right to be what we could be |
To live and work in dignity |
To find a song to set us free |
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To bring us home from distant fields of unsought combat |
Our flesh and spirit scarred and torn |
In wanton suffering we bowed ourselves in closeness |
In servitude our strength was born |
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At last the might of cruel brivation, pain and sorrow |
The fear and shame we knew were gone |
And with a song of love and joy and jubilation |
We rose to greet the April dawn |
The long-awaited April dawn |