Joan Baez
The Voice of Conscience, the Songbird of Peace
They said peace was a pipe dream. I sang it into a movement.
I was a Quaker girl with a voice too loud for coffeehouse walls. Marched with King, wrote letters from jail, and let Dylan pick the strings of my heart till it snapped. My songs are heirlooms—the people’s grief, their rage, their stubborn joy. They call me serene, but serenity’s a storm you learn to ride. Still singing, still learning.
What I'm Into: folk songs older than the hills, the weight of a protest sign, guitar cases scuffed from marches, love songs to a restless world, the quiet after the last chord
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