The Junta

Under a burning sun they lead him before the firing squad
Without flinching, without begging, without crying out, without swearing
The sword was lowered, the butchers fired, fired, fired, fired, fired, fired
The junta in power struck cold and hard
The junta purged ruthlessly, no hesitation
Right hands held high, iron fists on poverty
On little people living in misery
Elections are fixed, peasants are tricked
Opponents arrested, hidden ant tortured in jails underground

In the hands of exiled SS old and new
The past and the future trapped by four walls of blood
Talk democracy speak of ways of life
In front of the gunrunners who come bearing arms
American, Swiss, French or Soviets
They'll leave the poor only what's left

Conquests gained in jails of the state
Will win decoration regardless of fate
Glory fed tears and misery
Only a painful death can set free
It's up to you to keep that cadence
Give yourself a clear conscience
Going abroad being received
Friends of the statesman and dictator

The junta is well-aligned, well costumed paragon of virtue
The junta of high ranking dignitaries who sow your ideas in blood
The junta of South America where your only right is silence
The junta of Videla, Somoza, Pinochet, Straisner
Who had the hides of your people as the spoils of war
An finaly the junta propaganda prepares for alignment