Lyric discussion by Lunes 

(Translated from Haitian Creole by Mark Dow)

SMOKE

The one in hiding who takes wet leaves, Pissed-in mattress-stuffing that's not yet dry, Is not making a fire to cook, But to make us cough. If you see tears running down our faces, Our crying is not crying. We are the conscience that stands up, That moves on and analyzes The puff of smoke that's up to no good.

Smoke, listen closely. Smoke, the mistress of the house is the one who gives the orders. Smoke, don't let the people get angry Or they'll open the door and, dammit, you're gone.

The people have been initiated many times, They're through that place in just two or three steps. On their land, they are the only king, Little vodou priests like Lika, Little Jan or Little Nikola, Cannot make them march in step. The people know what this means: The life that is destroyed to give life Can't be lost, it will not be lost.

Smoke, listen closely. Smoke, the mistress of the house is the one who gives the orders. Smoke, don't let the people get angry Or they'll open the door and, dammit, you're gone.

The people know that the victory Of respect for life and of right Is something you have to fight for. They know very well that you may die If you just applaud and stand by, No one has any doubt about that. I don't think the people were surprised By what happened at midnight: The day always follows the night.

Smoke, listen closely. Smoke, the mistress of the house is the one who gives the orders. Smoke, don't let the people get angry Or they'll open the door and, dammit, you're gone.

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