Such derision when you fled!

They bruised your lank shins while you were down

Some kicked the crutches from under your arms

You are one sorry story

A lost cause from conception

Still I like you and your thinking mind



And it's like a good book reads:

Always question your country

There's knives in their blue eyes

So read up and turn off the telly



And say you do!

Say you love us like I know you will

And that our deaths won't be in vain

Or in the name of gasoline



You then displaced to Paris

Claiming your extra baggage

Mashing the fancy of your relatives

Nothing but tactfulness and peace

Outdoor restaurants and coffee

Books under your arms instead of crutches



The bombs ring

We all sing, "Freedom at last!"

The bombs ring

Children scream

Freedom at last!