Well we are the nameless ones
known to them all who have labored
or are heavy with sorrow
And we are the singers
of the wheat and the iron whom
the broken despairing shall follow
And we shall sing songs
of the miner's black lungs
and the sons that he lost
at Quang Tri and Danang
And we shall awaken the prison
to this simple this possible vision
Oh hear our voices sing
Now make the poet the king
Let's make the poet the king
Let's sing la la la la la la
With the thunder of the Inca
the peasant now speaks
Free my mountains and the valleys
from their murderous reach
No more shall they plunder
my sons or my daughters
Rise up as one
And cleanse these dark waters
And we shall enlighten out children
to the simplest possible vision
And let those who doubt be warned
of this great gathering storm
And let them heed our songs
For the people have waited so long
And we shall awaken the prisons
to this simple this possible vision
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