Santiago de Chile

That’s where I learned that love was brutal
Crying over the endless smoke
Of that city cornered
By symbols of winter
That’s where I learned to strip the cold with my skin
And then throw my body into the drizzle
In the hands of the pure, white fog
On streets of mystery

It’s not dead
They didn’t kill it
Not with the distance
Nor with the gray soldier
It’s not dead
They didn’t kill it
Not with the distance
Nor with the vile soldier

There among the hills, I had friends
Who were brothers amidst smoke bombs
There I had more than a few things
That I’ve always longed for
There our song became small
Among the desperate crowd
A powerful song of the land
Was the one that sang the loudest

It’s not dead
They didn’t kill it
Not with the distance
Nor with the gray soldier
It’s not dead
They didn’t kill it
Not with the distance
Nor with the vile soldier
Until then, it followed me like a shadow
The face of the one who was no longer seen
And in the hatred, death whispered to me
That it would soon appear

There I had a hatred, a shame
Beggar kids at dawn
And the desire to trade every door
For a sack of bullets

It’s not dead
They didn’t kill it
Not with the distance
Nor with the gray soldier
It’s not dead
They didn’t kill it
Not with the distance
Nor with the vile soldier