[Verse 1 – Birth] Sal was born in a hut of clay, No god to bless, no priest to pray. His mother wept, his father gone, A child of no one, yet life went on. They called him simple, they called him mild, A burden, a blessing, a godless child. [Verse 2 – Childhood] He chased the birds through fields of stone, He laughed at shadows, he sang alone. Too slow for lessons, too soft for strife, Yet gentle hands clung hard to life. The village sneered, the children mocked, But Sal just smiled, though the door was locked. [Verse 3 – Taken] When chains came clattering down the road, They bound his wrists and took their load. The strong cried out, the weak all fled, Sal followed smiling where he was led. He thought it play, a game, a test, He never knew he was dispossessed. [Verse 4 – Labour] In mines of corir, he learned to sing, A broken tune on a shattered string. He coughed up dust, he bled in stone, Yet thought himself never alone. For every lash, he bowed his head, And whispered thanks for a crust of bread. [Verse 5 – Breaking] When soldiers came to take their due, The girls were screaming, the sky turned blue. Sal clapped his hands, he thought it cheer, He never saw their pain, their fear. He worked, he laughed, while others cried, The world grew darker... And still he smiled. [Verse 6 – Death] And when his body broke at last, They laid him down in the dirt and grass. No priest was called, no psalm was read, They covered him silent, the nameless dead. Yet still the Troubadour sings it slow, The life and death of Sal the Slow.
