Social Waste

The stars, they say, can only be caught with the “pyrofani” technique (light fishing)
And the key will always be under the geranium*
The revolution is only worth it, for as long as it last before it becomes power
And you, that left early, where may you be wandering
In what neighborhoods, in what seas
And whenever the cops ask for a smile
You tell them “there also exists the zeibekiko dance you ruffian”

In Kavala, in the neighborhood of potamoudia*, the tiles are dripping* again
And the ladies in the neighborhoods, are preparing the fireplace
Against the time, they got together again
Outside it’s raining and it’s cold, but they are around the brazier
And they have started a fine conversation and they are talking about the past
About the young lads of the neighborhood and somewhere there they also remembered you
Fourteen-year old child, not even a lint had he grown
And he became a guerilla in the mountain, says one and the other agrees
And then they also remembered the tobacco workers from Thassos
Well you were killed early but how can I forget
The era of clandestinity and the strike, the isolation and even
Those simple words of Nikolas then we joined the Party
That there’s the rich on one side and us the poor on the other
And let’s distribute everything equally so that there cease to exist poor and rich
And some years later Chronis went to Saloniki
He joined the Republican Army but the victory was long gone
He was captured in ’47, say the neighbors in tears,
by some fascist military sold-out governments
And he was thrown in the cell by violence and power
And then the winners started to write the history.

The stars, they say, can only be caught with the “pyrofani” technique (light fishing)
And the key will always be under the geranium
The revolution is only worth it, for as long as it last before it becomes power
And you, that left early, where may you be wandering
In what neighborhoods, in what seas
And whenever the cops ask for a smile
You tell them “there also exists the zeibekiko dance you ruffian”

History is nothing but your traces on time’s soil
Somescribblings as Subcomandante Marcos says
It is written in the end by the winners and the ignorants believe it
But it comes to life thanks to the illiterate and to those without voice
Those who have experienced prison, torture and exile
In Makronisi, Anafi and Yaros, Agios Efstratios and Ikaria
Those who watched the torturer in the eyes and said “hit” ‘
And were shining in front of the executers with something from the stubbornness of Guevarra
And everytime I am drinking in the taverna, I drip a mug of wine on the soil
For our dead fighters for “our lads”
Sometimes I write them songs, in order not to forget them and to be left alone
Some lyrics, verses and choruses, one for Aris and one for Chronis
What can you say to me ,and me to you, you left early and I still here
The Left is now in power, and the Party is hierarchical
Bureaucrats are leading us, and they are feeding us with propaganda
But they do not know that the key will always be under the geranium …

The stars, they say, can only be caught with the “pyrofani” technique (light fishing)
And the key will always be under the geranium
The revolution is only worth it, for as long as it last before it becomes power
And you, that left early, where may you be wandering
In what neighborhoods, in what seas
And whenever the cops ask for a smile
You tell them “there also exists the zeibekiko dance you ruffian”

*Potamoudia, the key under the geranium, the dripping tiles, and several other verses in this song are references to Chronis Missios’ books.