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FREEDOMWAYS
FIRST QUARTER 1972

The nights are filled with prostitutes, 
the bars with sailors and queers;
a crossroads of the old sea-routes
for bandits and buccaneers. 
Caves where dealers will sell to you
morphine, cocaine, heroin too. 
Cabarets where ennui is changed
by the very illusory compliments
in a bottle of sparkling French champagne 
of whose effectiveness people are sure;
it's really the finest happiness cure
for syphilis of the sentiments. 
To penetrate, as with a knife, 
the future, and within it find
a formula, some clear design
to help one live his life. 
The holy rage of our bourgeoisie
who, as they've always been before, 
are shocked by the misery that they see, 
but answer it with a slam of the door.
That horrible blindness of the troops
who always have their rifles trained 
on the man who dares to protest or complain
when the bread's too hard or there's not much soup!

V

Charanga interrupts my words:
John the Barber's song
is heard. 

To get enough to eat
you work 'til you're almost dead;
to get enough to eat
you work 'til you're almost dead:
it's not just bending your back,
but also bowing your head. 

From cane stalks comes the sugar
to make my coffee sweet;
from cane stalks comes the sugar
to make my coffee sweet:

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Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2024-02-16 13:26:10 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2024-02-16 15:21:54