In the jungle they don’t know your name.
It’s lost in teargas that strikes it’s claim
On you and the roof over your head.
Riot police and twists of dread
That clench your stomach tight.
As they knock at the door,
Say ‘you’ve got an hour’
It’s not your place anymore,
They’re demolishing towers
Of temporary existence,
The ambition now is subsistence.
Where is a place
When you’ve been displaced?
Wide eyes seeking out cover,
Well it’s not here, is there another
Place to move on to,
Something to hold on to.
On the long odyssey to freedom?
Nothing to appeal to or reason
With, as you’re eaten up whole,
Just finding a role,
And moving on again.
They’re still playing cricket on the other side,
Human spirit spilling over the sides
Of tired desperation.
We’ll call it issues of a nation,
And measure them up for size.
‘Cause somehow it will give a guise
That we can behind.
Tonight it starts all over again,
How will we justify it when
The history books retell it?
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