Rosebud Morales, my friend,
before you deserted,
you’d say anyone can kill an Indian
and forget it the same instant,
that it will happen to me, Emiliano Zapata.
But my men want more corn for tortillas,
more pigs, more chickens, more chilis
If I haven’t got a gun or a knife,
I’ll fight with a pitchfork or a hoe,
to take them from the bosses,
those high-flying birds,
with the pomade glistening on their hair,
as they promenade into their coffins.
And if I’m killed, if we’re all killed right now,
we’ll go on, the true Annunciation.
Rosebud, how beautiful this day is.
I’m riding to meet Guajardo.
He’ll fight with me now,
When I get to the hacienda, it’s quiet.
Not many soldiers,
a sorrel horse, its reins held
by a woman in a thin, white American dress
and Guajardo standing on a balcony.
I get off my horse and start up the steps.
My legs burn, my chest,
my jaw, my head.
There’s a hill in front of me;
it’s slippery, I have to use my hands to climb it.
At the top, it’s raining fire and blood
on rows and rows of black corn.
Machetes are scattered everywhere.
I grab one and start cutting the stalks.
when they hit the ground,
they turn into men.
I yell at them.
You’re damned in the cradle,
in the grave, even in Heaven.
Dying doesn’t end anything.
Get up. Swing those machetes.
You can’t steal a man’s glory
without a goddamned fight.
Boys, take the land, take it; it’s yours.
If you suffer in the grave,
you can kill from it.
– AI, from Killing Floor.
And they blame it on Marilyn (on Marilyn).. and the heroin
Where were the parents at? And look where it’s at – Middle America,
now it’s a tragedy, now it’s so sad to see, an upper class city
having this happening.
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