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Hard sun biting into the long dry road that goes from one small nowhere to another.
Hard sun that bites into the rough
brown skin of bent backs in the hard dry village fields. Whose friend or foe
are you?
Soft moon dropping silver tear-drops that trickle down the window panes and vanish
Soft moon that draws fingers across
the strings of so many bright guitars that no-one hears What secrets do you know?
I
come
walking
a
white
road
under
a
white
sun
I
come
looking
for
reflections
under
a
pale
moon
The
peasant
in
his
ragged
clothes
invites
me
in
feeds
me
gives
me
presents
and
a
room
to
stay
I
look
at
him
and
wonder
Who
are
you?
The white moon shines down on friends who share a glass of wine afraid to ask who are you?
Are
you
the
man
who
killed
his
uncle
and
dragged
those
girls
to
a
bend
in
the
hard
white
road
and
kicked
their
bullet-ridden
bodies
down
the
hillside
The white sun stares down on brown skin and asks who are you?
Are you the man who took me in and shared your meagre bowl and took me to the bar and bought me drinks with your last pennies.
The white moon spins like a silver coin She would drop her bounty in your lap if she knew who are you.
Are you the son of those sour crooks who stripped America made promises to kings then broke both promises and kings and stole their gold and silver
The white sun shines down on poor America and counts the cries and dries the tears and asks who are you?
Are you that man who sings the cante jondo that sharp cry that reaches for your soul to grasp some small resemblance that you seek in vain
The white moon wont tell the secrets of the night until she's sure who are you?
Are you the man who smashed the windows of the convent burnt the churches bombed a cavalcade of bishops and rejoiced in revolution
The white sun shone brown thru smoke burnt blood dry and cracked the city like a crypt but didn't tell who are you?
Perhaps you are the man I saw before me in the street adoring the white virgin penitent with votive candle
The white moon blows kisses to the windows but there are no stars in eyes that ask who are you?
They talk about the men who ran away to Buenas Aires when the guns were barking and the knives were out or are you lying in the ditch face down your blood a dirty river flowing down the hill
The white sun will bleach your bones and ask the wailing wives and daughters who are you
That shadow on the rock
under a frightened moon
hiding under a pale light
revealing your soul in the dark
who are you?
Shouting against the racket of the bar
the crash of pictures
the busy noise of the chaotic street
barreling down the road you own, but
who are you?
Silent behind a mask I cannot see
a song is trying to write you,
the guitar is soft at the end of day
then with a cry it interrupts the night
but tell me
if I listen behind the notes
will the spaces in between
tell me who you are?
The white sun has found your secret and breaks it on the hard dry ground.
The white moon draws silver fingers across the pieces
The fingers trace the words
Who Are You?