I met a boy

from Israel

in the western end

His country was inflamed

he needed to draw the line

Either go to war

or never see his home

he needed to draw the line

In the space of seven days



I don’t know

Black mountain

why you’re where you are

I hear the wooden pipe

fade into the night

A pond full of tears

dries in the evenihg sun

“All alone,” he said

“Luck of where you’re from,”

“Luck of the draw,” he smiled

he needed to draw the line

his words cut me like a knife

one step behind the door

one step behind the door...



I met a boy

from Israel

in the western end

His country was inflamed

he needed to draw the line

Either go to war

or never see his home

he needed to draw the line

In the space of seven days

“Luck of the draw,” he said

one step behind the door

one step behind the door...