The light that shines is not the same That shines on you and me Whoever has an artist’s eye And vision to create Will always see what makes him free And never suffocate Regardless of his fate No, he’ll never suffocate. The sun beats down on this domain The peasant in his shack Surveys the desert of his days The territory of Cain He knows the helplessness of Man Yet never will complain That God should take the blame No, he never will complain. What is this struggle that we share That holds us in its thrall To make more money and inflate Our ego and our power? The bird that hovers o’er the bower Has long known how to fly Though he too will surely die It’s he that flies, not I. Todos Santos, May 1996 |