“What are you doing here?” I asked at last. “Probably the same thing you are.” “What’s that?” She looked serious. “Why don’t you tell me?” I went back to my knife. “Sharpening my machete.” “I'm sharpening my mind ,” she said. “There is something to be done that will require an edge on both.”
There's one thing for sure; you can't kill sixteen children in less than two minutes with a club, a knife or even a machete.
I'm on the border of Bolivia, working for pennies Treated like a slave, the coca fields have to be ready The spirit of my people is starving, broken, and sweaty Dreaming about revolution looking at my machete But the workload is too heavy to rise up in arms And if I ran away, I know they'd probably murder my moms So I pray to Jesu Cristo when I go to the mission Process the cocaine paste, and play my position
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