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I came to this land in 1908 (\"nineteen-O-eight\") |
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and I thought it the land of the free, |
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but I very soon saw the rich had one law |
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and another for people like me. |
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Well, times were depressed and the money was hard |
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and I peddled my fish by the sea, |
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where the pilgrims of old fleeing from persecution |
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landed and thought themselves free. |
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Ch.: Goodbye to you, my brave comrades, |
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goodbye to you, (Swassels?) lane, |
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goodbye to North Plymouth, |
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goodbye Boston Harbour, |
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I'll never see you again. |
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The department of justice was (rambling up) reds |
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and one day on the sidewalk below |
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Salsedo was found lying crushed on the ground |
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and they said he fell out of a high storey window. |
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And two payroll guards were shot down and killed |
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at the height of this anti-Red scare |
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and the (powers that be?) arrested Sacco and me |
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and now we are facing the chair. |
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Well, our jury, God help us, what chance did they have, |
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when the cruel judge called us low breed. |
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He was heard to declare: \"They should get the chair, |
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they're Reds and what more do you need?\" |
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And for 7 long years we languished in jail, |
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while appeals for a retrial were made, |
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and the Madeiros' confession it made no impression |
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on judge Webster Thayer's crusade. |
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No Well, a dog, that kills chicken you wouldn't convict |
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on the evidence, judge, that you've heard, |
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but you showed no concern while these two witches burn(ed) |
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for preaching the dangerous word. |
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And your governments, judge, differ only in (mean) |
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to victimise, trick, and repress. |
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And a change of error, and a change of evil |
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is taken by many as progress. |
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If these things hadn't happened we might have lived out our lives |
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conversing with scornful men, |
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we might have died alone, unmarked, unknown, |
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failures again and again. |
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But our death and our pain will not be in vain, |
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and your crimes they will never be (blurred). |
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Oh, what makes you think as you stand on the brink |
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that you'll always be ruling this world. |
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. |
