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The Revolutionary They've hung my father more than once They ask my mother foolish questions Tell us when the moon will wax and wane Tell us when the sun will rise again She's used to questions now Her answers found in faded photographs Memories of children, sad and smiling She didn't understand When my brother wrote his name in blood We had to burn her photographs And as she watched her past and present children Scarred by flame My mother understood Now we are in chains and stand Three times accused Three times denied My father mounts again his patient gallows My mother answers questions silently Her children have been burned, are burning She shares their pain We ask no pity, only No more flames |
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