It's a city that I know
A song that I used to sing
There's blood on the sidewalk

It's his voice, burnt dust
It's his nails on the armored vehicle
They beat him to death, he's cold, he's scared
I hear his heart beating
From any country, of any color
Po Na Ba Mboka Nionso Pe Na Pikolo Nionso

He lived with words
That were passed under the coat
That shone like knives

He played with derision
Like a precision weapon
He's on the cement, but his cursed songs
We know them by heart
Music sometimes has major chords
That make children laugh but not dictators
From any country, of any color
Music is a cry that comes from within

It depends on the latitudes
It depends on your attitude
It's a hundred years of solitude

There's blood on my piano
There are boots on my tempo
Beneath the volcano, I hear him, I hear him
I hear his heart beating
Music sometimes has minor chords
That make the teeth of the great liberator grind
From any country, of any color
Music is a cry that comes from within

It's a city that I know
A song that I used to sing
A song that resembles us
Moti Kayé Astali Nini Penza

It's Mandela's voice
The tempo doctor Fela
Listen to the crowd singing with your rolling words
And make his heart beat

From any country, of any color
Music is a cry that comes from within
From any country, of any color
Music is a cry that comes from within
From any country, of any color
Music is a cry that comes from within
Po Na Ba Mboka Nionso Pe Na Pikolo Nionso
Music is a cry that comes from within
Po Na Ba Mboka Nionso Pe Na Pikolo Nionso
Music is a cry that comes from within
Po Na Ba Mboka Nionso Pe Na Pikolo Nionso

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES