A million hopes, a million dreams
A million plans, a million schemes
Hit me like the high notes of a song.
Faded faces, from old photographs
A million tears, a million laughs
Tell me where, have all their young lives gone,
Tell me where, have all their young lives gone.
They took my brothers, my sisters too,
Soon they’ll come for me and you
They’ll brand us like the cattle in the fields
They’ll come with knives, they’ll come with guns
They’ll march us ‘neath the desert sun
They’ll spit on us and say we’re infidels
As they kill us all, they’ll call us infidel
When heavens rain, turned into hell
And blood ran down the mission bell
And God abandoned each and every one
They tore Shasiné from her home
Marched her down a blood stained road
To bake to death in a land of rock and stone;
To bake to death in a land of rock and stone.
On the day, Shasiné died,
The snowflakes fell upon her eyes
She saw her mountain village in her dreams
The harvest was all gathered in
And grape juice ran all down her chin
As she lay down by a cool clear mountain stream
And she drank the crystal waters from the stream
