Joan Baez - Gacela Of The Dark Death

I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
To withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
Who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

I don't want to hear again
That the dead do not lose their blood,
That the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
Nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
That labors before dawn.

I want to sleep awhile,
Awhile, a minute, a century
But all must know that I have not died
That there is a stable of gold in my lips
That I am the small friend of the West wing
That I am the intense shadows of my tears.

Cover me at dawn with a veil,
Because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
And wet with hard water my shoes
So that the pincers of the scorpion slide.

For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
To learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth
For I want to live with that dark child
Who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.