In the seventies when I was a child, that is to say an undergraduate, we would sometimes go to the airport in San Francisco to greet and orient prisoners just released from jails located in countries further south. At solidarity meetings I would later translate for these people, which meant I had to say sentences such as “And then they pulled out my fingernails one by one.”
At that time I thought this type of song was all too sentimental and lacrimose, and could not express, and so on. After thirty years, however, all I can really say is, yes. Their hands were gentle, and their hands were strong.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 