Dice Are Rolling / Eva’s Sonnet

Lyrics

[PERÓN] Dice are rolling, the knives are out Would-be presidents are all around I don't say they mean harm but they'd each give an arm To see us six feet underground [EVA] But we still have the magic we've always had! The descamisados still worship me We arrived thanks to them and no one else No thanks to your generals—a clutch of stuffed cuckoos! [PERÓN] It's not a question of a big parade Proving we're big with the mobs on the street Our problems are closer than that They'rе along the corridor [EVA] You're wrong—the pеople, my people— [PERÓN] The people belong to no one! They are fickle, can be manipulated! Controllable, changeable In the end the people don't matter— However much they love you now It matters more that as far as my stuffed cuckoos are concerned You don't officially or politically exist! [EVA] So I don't exist! So I count for nothing! Try saying that on the street When all over the world I am Argentina! Most of your generals Wouldn't be recognized by their own mothers! But they'll admit I exist when I become vice-president! [PERÓN] That won't work We've been through all of this before They'd fight any attempt to make you vice-president Tooth and nail You'd never overcome that sort of opposition With a hundred rallies And even if you did— [EVA] Yes? [PERÓN] Your little body's slowly breaking down You're losing speed, you're losing strength Not style, that goes on flourishing forever But your eyes, your smile Do not have the sparkle of your fantastic past If you climb one more mountain it could be your last [EVA] I'm not that ill Bad moments come but they go Some days are fine, some a little bit harder But I'm no has-been It's the same old routine Have you ever seen Me defeated? Don't you forget what I've been through and yet I'm still standing And if I am ill—it could even be to your advantage! [PERÓN] This is not a case of a sympathetic word in the gossip column Because you've got a cold! I'm trying to point out that you might die! This talk of death is chilling, an assault— Upon ourselves and it will be our fault If we allow These morbid septic thoughts To rule us now To bring our reason clattering to a halt I do not need a final sacrifice Just let me know of any sane device To shift your strength, your undisputed powers To places where your mighty deeds Your golden words Have not so far cut too much ice [EVA] Then I must now be vice-president! Those shallow mean pretenders to your throne Will come to learn ours is the upper hand For I do not accept this is not known In rich established parcels of our land To face the storms so long and not capsize Is not the chance achievement of a fraud Conservatives are kings of compromise It hurts them more to jeer than to applaud And I shall have my people come to choose The couple who shall wear their country's crowns In thousands in my squares and avenues Emptying their villages and towns Where every soul in home or shack or stall Knows me as Argentina—that is all O I shall be a great vice-president! This is not a gambler's final throw Forced upon me by those bastards who've Only longed to see me up and go It's not an unprepared or panicked move Which just goes to prove I'd be good for you Eva vice-president is good for you