THE MULE MOLA

That son of the great She-Mule
through Mola he came to do mischief.
As he didn't have any soldiers,
he made them up out of soutanes.
From far away the traitor Franco
sends him only promises
and taking him for a Mule
proclaims the coming of mulatto troops.
Now they're asking for war mothers,
these troops from the mehallas.
The Crescent now has the protection
of those zealously pious women.
And how they cure their wounds,
and how the Moor gives them
bloodied bunches of flowers
filled with severed ears!
On mules they go towards Mola
shouting for their pay.
Mola strings them along with marks,
those from Germany, long out of use.
Fierce Moor, they tricked you,
are going to trick you, are tricking you!
And from all parts
come the cracking voices
of drunken generals
spouting drivel over the radio.
Meanwhile, against these tales
which the fascists raise,
hammers and sickles smash
their clear truths.
And in battle our Militias
go about singing of their joy,
victorious over the death that lies
in ambush for their militiawomen;
always putting their bullets
where they've put their eyes.

The light of day breaks out
there in front of the Guadarrama,
bloodstaining the lights of hope
with the light of dawn.
On the other side of the hills
is the death of Spain.