Voices of the Mountain

This is a story with no ending, and the theme is still the same,
and the tragedy plays out through all of time:
human “wisdom” is deceived in a cruel devil’s game,
pitting love against the world’s dark other side.
“If you kill me my spirit will rise up in the people.”
Once a puppet, now a martyr, his words of truth prevail.
Injustice and falsehood are just the demon’s idols;
love still conquers hate – tears down its cunning veil.

And the voices of the mountain call my name!
The passion of their tears drives the Salvadoran rain.
Oh-Oh-Oh hear the rain! Can you hear the rain?

A baby, eight months old, and his brother, only three,
by Providence were spared the sniper’s fire.
Raised by his “abuelita” he worked within the mission
where he speaks with words of courage recounting former times:
through the conflict his family made provision for the army
and filled their hungry bodies with vegetables and rice.
But they shared as well their bounty with the ones in opposition,
and the price that they would pay would be their life.

And the voices of the mountain call my name,
echoing their fear that their lives were lost in vain.
Oh, feel their shame. Can you feel the shame?

Monterosa was a soldier, though his years were ten and seven,
conscripted by the army to kill “subversive seeds.”
Their mothers, too, he slaughtered and left their broken bodies
there to die upon the mountain, forsaking his own creed.
“Campesino recruited to kill campesino.”
In his anguish he asks, “Will the army soldier gain?
If I survive my year of duty, I [just] become a campesino again.
In the name of God, [tell me] who gains?”

And the voices of the mountain call my name.
No longer can the truth be denied or contained.
Oh, who’s to blame? Who will gain?

Their names were Miguel, Isabel and Frederico,
campesinos, common people, who were crushed beneath a lie.
Wisdom deems: “The oppressed must free their oppressor,”
and “those who fight for life could never [die.]”
They were mothers, they were fathers, they were sisters, and brothers.
They had dreams and a vision to change their destiny.
They rowed to fish the waters, they gathered in the harvest,
they planted “Seeds of Life,” they were you and they were me!

And the voices of the mountain call my name.
The passion of their tears drives the Salvadoran rain.
Oh, hear the rain. Can you hear the rain?
Oh, hear the rain. Can you hear the rain?