Song in the Blood Joan Baez

There are great puddles of blood on the world
Where is it all going? all this spilled blood?
Is it the earth that drinks it and gets drunk?
Funny kind of drunkography then, so wise, so monotonous, no
The earth doesn't get drunk
The earth doesn't turn askew
It pushes its little car regularly, it's four seasons, rain, snow, hail, fair weather
Never is it drunk
It's with difficulty it permits itself from time to time
An unhappy little volcano
It turns, the earth
It turns with its trees, its gardens, its houses
It turns with its great pools of blood
And all living things turn with it and bleed

It doesn't give a damn the earth
It turns and all living things set up a howl
It doesn't give a damn
It turns
It doesn’t stop turning
And the blood doesn't stop running

Where's it going all this spilled blood?
Murder's blood, war's blood, misery's blood
And the blood of men tortured in prisons
And the blood of children calmly tortured by their papa and their mama
And the blood of men whose heads bleed in padded cells
And the roofers blood when the roofer slips and falls from the roof
And the blood that comes and flows in great gushes with the newborn
The mother cries
The baby cries
The blood flows
The earth turns
The earth doesn’t stop turning
The blood doesn’t stop flowing