They Dance Alone
Why are there women here dancing on their own?
Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here
Their faces fixed like stone?
I can’t see what it is that they despise.
They’re dancing with the missing
They’re dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid.
They’re dancing with their fathers
They’re dancing with their sons
They’re dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone …
Hey Mr. Pinochet
You’ve sown a bitter crop
That foreign money that supports you
One day the money’s going to stop.
No wages for your torturers
No budget for your guns
Can you think of your own mother
Dancing with her invisible son? …
One day we’ll dance on their graves
One day we’ll sing our freedom
One day we’ll laugh in our joy
And we’ll dance
And we’ll dance
— Sting