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!