Corpse of the Revolution
The great exiled Persian poet Majid Naficy exposes the continuing pain of Iranian people.
You, preacher man don't tell me
Heaven is under the earth
Get up, stand up
Stand up for your rights
Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
one man lived just like a king,
the other man begged on the street.
long ago, far away;
these things don't happen
no more, nowadays
We all got to die
But some people
Some people
Some people got to suffer before they die
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