Como Sera

How will it be?, how will it be
in the real world?
Without the chains, without these pains
that hold me down.

The green horizon and the blue sky
I could never see.
The colors change and people change
when they're free.

And how will it be?
And how will it be?
And how will it be?,
how will it be?, how will it be?

I was born in this life, swallowing my pride,
and I can remember,
my African mother was made a slave,
my father a fucking officer.

And I spend the hours, wondering what’s happening,
everything feels the same.
Whether it’s night or day, only the light changes
in this place.

And how will it be?
And how will it be?
And how will it be?,
how will it be?, how will it be?

Freedom hasn’t died, no.
Justice hasn’t died, no.
Hope hasn’t died, no.
Dreams haven’t died, no.
And joy hasn’t died, no.
Poetry hasn’t died, no.
And joy hasn’t died, no.
Poetry hasn’t died, no.

And how will it be?, where will it come from
the prophet who will guide us?
We’ll share again
bread, wine, rye,
sugar and salt.

And if you have an extra chair, it’ll be welcome here,
there’s someone who can’t sit down.
Somewhere I read that we pass through here
in search of another place.

Mahatma Gandhi hasn’t died, no.
Luther King hasn’t died, no.
Jesus Christ hasn’t died, no.
The Commander hasn’t died, Che!
The General hasn’t died, no.
The General hasn’t died, no.
The General hasn’t died, no.
The General hasn’t died, no.

Morrison hasn’t died.
Hendrix hasn’t died.
Lennon hasn’t died, no.
Bob Marley hasn’t died, no.
And Luca Prodan hasn’t died, no.
Luca Prodan hasn’t died, no.
And Luca Prodan hasn’t died, no.
Luca Prodan hasn’t died, no.