Welcome to FalastinVision!
Ellen
- Ellen
- Upstairs
My name is Ellen Andersson but after having performed upstairs at an Irish bar in Stockholm I was known as “Ellen Upstairs” by the regulars and the name stuck with me. I was born in Sweden and learned to play the accordion at 9.
After a couple of years I taught myself how to play the guitar, and that’s when I started writing music. When I moved to Chicago to study music, my love for composition truly started to bloom, and I found my own way of expressing how
I was feeling about things I struggled to communicate otherwise. I believe that music can make a big difference in the world, as long as people are willing to stop and listen.
As for many others, Reem’s story truly affected me and made me think of how many more stories there are in Palestine that are similar to hers. I really struggled to write this song because no matter what I wrote, the words just didn’t feel enough. But, when I actually sat down and gave myself the time to write, I realized that it was impossible to write about Reem and her family without also writing about Palestinians and their culture from a bigger perspective. I hope the song is able to capture both the anger and disappointment towards our politicians and the indifference of the western world in the middle of a genocide, as well as my admiration of the strength and courage of the Palestinian people. In an interview with Reem’s grandfather he spoke about how mothers in Gaza pray for a quick death, and that’s what inspired the chorus. The last lines are from the famous poem by Refaat Alareer.
Song Title: The Mothers Pray
The Mothers Pray – Ellen Upstairs
Who combed your hair?
Tied it into pigtails
Essence of the soul
Giggles and games
earring found in ruins
Reem, nevermore
Who was the last to hear your soul screaming
When did your voice give up
Mother, oh mother,
Who could ask you to endure this?
Their hands are drenched in Children’s blood
The mothers pray:
God, If peace won’t come
Kill us quickly
Fast asleep
Let us die with our arms
Wrapped around our sons
Let our daughters
Die in peace
May our stories live on
May our keys bring us home
Let the olive trees grow, become part of our bodies
If I must die
You must live
How many Reems
Are buried under rubble
Essence of the soul
How many more?
Til a deaf world starts hearing
Our hands are drenched in Children’s blood
The mothers pray:
God, If peace won’t come
Kill us quickly
Fast asleep
Let us die with our arms
Wrapped around our sons
Let our daughters
Die in peace
May our stories live on
May our keys bring us home
Let the olive trees grow, become part of our bodies
If I must die
You must live
You look away
Give yourself a mental break
Do you feel sorry for yourself?
It seems you’ve lost your spine
Somewhere far down the line
Between justifications, and swallowing lies
The mothers pray:
God, If peace won’t come
Kill us quickly
Let us die with our arms
Wrapped around our sons
Let our daughters
Die in peace
May our stories live on
May our keys bring us home
Let the olive trees grow, become part of our bodies
If I must die
You must live