What Can I Say Without Touching The

Oh To Follow The Road That Leads Away From Everything, Without Anguish, Death, Winter Waiting Along It With Their Eyes Open Through The Dew.

Latin America Is Very Fond Of The Word "hope." We Like To Be Called The "continent Of Hope." Candidates For Deputy, Senator, President, Call Themselves "candidates Of Hope." This Hope Is Really Something Like A Promise Of Heaven, An Iou Whose Payment Is Always Being Put Off. It Is Put Off Until The Next Legislative Campaign, Until Next Year, Until The Next Century.

Writing Poetry, We Live Among The Wild Beasts, And When We Touch A Man, The Stuff Of Someone In Whom We Believed, And He Goes To Pieces Like A Rotten Pie, You... Gather Together Whatever Can Be Salvaged, While I Cup My Hands Around The Live Coal Of Life.

Give Me, For My Life, All Lives, Give Me All The Pain Of Everyone, I'm Going To Turn It Into Hope. Give Me All The Joys, Even The Most Secret, Because Otherwise How Will These Things Be Known? I Have To Tell Them, Give Me The Labors Of Everyday, For That's What I Sing.

He Who Has Nothing—it Has Been Said Many Times—has Nothing To Lose But His Chains.