Pablo Neruda - From The Heights of Macchu Picchu lyrics

Rise up in birth with me, my brother. Give me your hand out of the deep zone of your wide-spread sorrow. You will not return from the bedrock depths. You will not return from subterranean time. It will not return, your hardened voice. They will not return, your pierced eyes. Look at me from the depths of the earth, you, the farm worker, the weaver, the quiet shepherd, the tamer of guardian guanacos, the mason on his defied scaffolding, the water carrier bearing Andean tears, the j**eler with crushed fingers, the farmer trembling among his seeds, you, the potter poured in your clay, all ye, bring to the cup of this new life your ancient buried sorrows. Show me your blood and your furrow, tell me: here I was punished because the j**el did not shine or the earth failed to yield enough stone or enough corn: point to the rock on which you fell and the wood on which they crucified you; strike the old flints, turn on the old lamps, crack the whips embedded throughout the centuries in your wounds and the axes with blood-encrusted sparkle. I am coming to speak for and through your dead mouths. Throughout the earth, join together all the scattered silent lips, and out of the depths speak to me during this long night as if I were anchored to you. Tell me everything, chain by chain, link by link, and step by step. Sharpen the knives you'd locked away, put them on my breast and into my hands, like a river of yellow lightening, like a river of buried tigers, and let me cry, hours, days, years, blind ages, stellar centuries. Give me silence, water, hope. Give me the struggle, the iron, the volcanoes. Attach your bodies to me like magnets. Come to my veins and my mouth. Speak through my words and my blood.