I write as darkness climbs these prison walls
And when I'm safe from prying eyes.
I part your lips, soft as blue gandilla.
I feel you in your letters.
My Sal, I understand the anger that surrounds you,
But now I take your hand and guide it through my thighs.
My dream lover, wrap your legs around me.
I feel your manhood, stroke your long black hair
And weary eyes.
We're both alike, we're spirits of imagination.
You'll love the colors of the desert - gold and rust.
Puerto Rican blood blending with Indian
In the sacred flame of burning lust.
The quarter moon stares through my window.
And reads your letters on my bed.
I know they open all the mail I send you,
But love can't be censored.
We share a history, the white man broke our nation.
The braves don't know the gloies of our past.
The barrio is just another reservation,
But the day of revolution is coming fast.
The desert moon is my witness
I went to pump some water from the well
I saw wild horses mating in the sunrise.
I dreamed of freedom for me and you, Sal.
Oh my darling, darling Sal.
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© 1997 Paul Simon y Derek Walcott (BMI)
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