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!