ruth crawford seeger – sacco, vanzetti lyrics
fast! fast!
one year has p-ssed!
dead! dead!
you will never be reborn!
who said
there will be a resurrection?
why didn’t we see any of those gentlemen
who were willing to take your places?
the real rneaning of “death” —
you knew it
still you paid with your life for your cl-ss!
sacrifice!
that was real sacrifice!
look at your enemies
they are fishing
smiling
murdering
as ever
shameful!
it is an eternal disgrace to us all
before your death
did not millions promise —
to do “this” or “that”
lf you should die?
now
one year has p-ssed
what about “this” and what about “that”?
pet-tions?
protests?
telegrams?
demonstrations?
strikes?
oh! they may refire the cold ashes of our two martyrs
but they can never soften the murderer’s heart!
tears?
sighs?
complaints?
and the like?
oh! they may expect the embraces of your dear mothers
they can never get pardon from the blood-thirsty masters
have you ever seen sheep end pigs
being dragged to slaughter?
how pitifully they shriek!
how terribly they tremblel
yet men enjoy their delicious flesh
just the same!
sheep! pigs! foreigners! workers!
your sweat is fertile
your blood is sweet
your meat is fresh!
oh, vanzetti!
you did say:
“i wish to forgive some people for what they are now doing to me”
certainly, you can forgive them as you like
but you are the wop, the fish peddler, the worker
and haven’t anything in the bank
lsn’t it a great insult
to say “forgive” to your honorable master?
oh, sacco!
you did say:
“long live anarchy”
but you should not forget
that when you climb up to heaven
you must use the ladder!
oh martyrs!
dead! dead!
you are dead
never, never
to live again
fast! fast!
one year has p-ssed!
but years and years
years are piling up immortal bricks
of your lofty monument
oh martyrs!
look at the autumn flowers:
they are dying!
dying! dying!
but
the trees, the roots from which
the flowers are blooming
never, never die!
when the spring comes
we shall again see the pretty flowers
blooming
perfuming
saluting the warm sun
wrestling with the mild wind
and kissing the charming b-tterflies
oh martyrs!
dead, dead! you are dead!
but
your human tree and your human root
are budding
blooming
growing!
listen to the war cries of your living brothers!
this is the incense
we are burning
to you
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