In memory of Sacco and Vanzetti, two anarchists murdered by the state who died defending true freedom and liberty. "Via la anarchia, farewell mia madre." -The last words of Nicola Sacco.
[sample of Jello Biafra] The last words of Bartolomeo Vanzetti, before he and Nicola Sacco were executed by the U.S. government in 1927 for a crime they did not commit. The real crime being they were anarchists. They were labor union activists. And if that's not enough, they were immigrants.
Non in America, ma sotto l'America. Schiacciati dal peso di un impero furono obbligati a instaurar la condizione degli oppressi, senza natione, stremati. Cercando la libertà in bandiere rossonere, il dolce sapore dell'autonomia. la promessa di libertà nella terra dei miserabili. L'illusione di ricchezze nella terra dei decrepiti. Vivendo non in America ma sotto l'America. Reclusi in frantoi, fabbriche, prigioni e patiboli. Una cosi infelice fortuna. Diventare un rivoluzionario della disgrazia, definendo la storia attraverso il martirio, vivendo in eterno nei cuori dei ribelli e dei liberi. Sette anni dietro le sbarre, ma nessun carcere puo imprigionare un'idea, come signori portati al loro destino, umili e forti, il prete rifiutano periscono non per un loco crimine, ma per l'anarchismo e la libertà. "Le nostre parole, le nostre vite, i nostri dolori... la fine della nostra esistenza... l'ultimo momento ci appartiene. Quest'agonia e il nostro trionfo!"
(translation: Not in America but under America, crushed by the weight of an empire they were forced into building: the plight of the oppressed, nationless and weary. Seeking freedom in banners of red and black, the sweet taste of autonomy, the promise of freedom in the land of the wretched, the illusions of wealth in the land of the decrepit. Living not in America but under America, slaving in mills, factories, prisons and gallows. Such unhappy luck, to become a revolutionary of misfortune, shaping history through martyrdom, living forever in the hearts of the rebellious and free. Seven years behind bars, but no jail can imprison ideas. As gentlemen led to their doom, humble and strong, the priest they refuse, they die not for their crime, but for anarchism and liberty. "Our words, our lives, our pains... the taking of our lives... the last moment belongs to us. That agony is our triumph!")
[sample of Bartolomeo Vanzetti] If it had not been for this thing, I might have lived out my life talking at street corners to scorning men. I might have died, unmarked, unknown, a failure. Now we are not a failure. This is our career and our triumph. Never in our full life can we hope to do such work for tolerance, justice, for man's understanding of man, as now we do by accident. Our words - our lives - our pains - nothing! The taking of our lives - lives of a good shoemaker and a poor fish peddler - all! That last moment belongs to us - that agony is our triumph
Track Name: eternal in my domain
winter sun glorious dawn
wicked spell of cold and fog
the brightness comes but no warmth
eternal cold frozen son
pagan wind bite the skin
in solitude I wait
winter sun fight the cold earthly sky
cast emotion of uncertainty of emptiness
a grim fog lay in the valley beneath my mountain
the sight brings warmth to my cold body
on my throne in this natural setting I shall reign
eternal in my domain