I recall the bombs from heaven, I was just a child - eleven
It was April, nineteen thirty seven - in Guernica…..
Three hours felt like three lifetimes, my friends all slaughtered in their prime
Living here our only crime - oh, Guernica…..
Cacophony of tortured screams, the roaring buzz of those freak machines
I still hear them in my dreams - of Guernica…
From questions that will never cease, to Picasso’s childish masterpiece
I wonder, will the world find peace - for Guernica....
Now, for eighty years, I’ve wondered why
Death still haunts us from the sky
The guilty have their alibi
Some nations even justify
The UN seeks to clarify
While innocent and children die
In Syria …
It was April, nineteen thirty seven - in Guernica…..
Three hours felt like three lifetimes, my friends all slaughtered in their prime
Living here our only crime - oh, Guernica…..
Cacophony of tortured screams, the roaring buzz of those freak machines
I still hear them in my dreams - of Guernica…
From questions that will never cease, to Picasso’s childish masterpiece
I wonder, will the world find peace - for Guernica....
Now, for eighty years, I’ve wondered why
Death still haunts us from the sky
The guilty have their alibi
Some nations even justify
The UN seeks to clarify
While innocent and children die
In Syria …
Contributed by Dave Mason - 2023/7/6 - 15:30
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Written where his daughter was doing a school project on the painting by Pablo Picasso depicting the aerial attack on this market town by the German and Italian air forces during the Spanish Civil War on April 26, 1937. It is told from the perspective of an aged survivor of the Spanish attack who might have settled in Syria.