OS QUATRO CANTORES Pobre Marat em tua casa cercada estás adiantado um século de nós Enquanto tine a lâmpada lá fora e tuas palavras se decompõe escor… - Peter Weiss

Our play's chief aim has been to take to bits
Great propositions and their opposites, See how they work, and let them fight it out, To point some light on our eternal doubt. Marat and I both advocated force But in debate each took a different course. Both wanted changes, but his views and mine On using power never could combine. On the one side, he who thinks our lives Can be improved by axes and knives, Or he who, submerged in the imagination, Seeking a personal annihilation.

Don't soil your pretty little shoes
The gutter's deep and red
Climb up climb up and ride along with me
the tumbrel driver said But she never said a word
never turned her head Don't soil your pretty little pants
I only go one way
Climb up climb up and ride along with me
There's no gold coach today But she never said a word
never turned her head

We've got rights the right to starve
We've got jobs waiting for work
We're all brothers lousy and dirty
We're all free and equal to die like dogs