Slavná americká písničkářka (zpěvačka a kytaristka) pocházející z New Yorku (nar. 1941). První větší popularitu si získala na folkovém festivalu v Newportu v r. 1959. O rok později se prosadila i úspěšným prvním albem. Od začátku 60. let...
Píseň: La Colombe (The Dove)
Why all these bugles cry These squads of young men drill To kill and to be killed Stood waiting by the train Why the orders loud and hoarse Why the engine's groaning cough As it strains to drag us all Into the holocaust Why crowds who sing and cry And shout and fling us flowers And trade their rights for ours To murder and to die CHORUS The dove has torn her wings So no more songs of love We are not here to sing We're here to kill the dove Why must this moment come When childhood has to die When hope shrinks to a sigh And speech into a drum Why are they pale and still Young boys trained over night Concripts payed to kill And dressed in gray to fight These rainclouds massing tight This train load battle bound This moving burial ground Goes thundering to the night CHORUS The dove has torn her wings So no more songs of love We are not here to sing We're here to kill the dove Why statues towering grave Above the last defeat Old words and lies repeat Across a new made grave And why the same still birds That victory always brought These hours of glory bought By men with mounds of earth Dead ash without a spark Where cities used to be Where guns probe every spark And crush it into dust CHORUS The dove has torn her wings So no more songs of love We are not here to sing We're here to kill the dove And while your face undone With jagged lines of tears That gave in those first years All the peace I'd ever want Your body in the gloom The platform fading back Your shadow on the track A flower upon a tomb And why these days ahead When I must let you cry And live prepared to die As if our love were dead? Chorus The dove has torn her wings So no more songs of love We are not here to sing We're here to kill the dove
