| We’re out here on the borders with our favourite few possessions
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| Traded stories whispered round the fire
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| As shadows in the searchlights, mugshots in the files
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| Waiting in the camps behind the wire
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| Kick the door until it opens, what you have you cannot hold
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| We are young, forever hungry, you are fat and growing old
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| Still every day you try to build a higher wall
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| We pick the leaves of coca, we stack the crates of cola
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| We wait upon the tables where you dine
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| And learn from you not to accept the little that we’re given
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| To take the piece of silver where we can
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| Now clutching at these papers in another office line
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| We’re staring from the darkness up at windows filled with light
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| And every day you try to build a higher wall
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| In my town we used to pray to idols sent from far away
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| From out beyond the dusty days, we heard your voices call
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| And in your town the streets are cleaned
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| The order stands, the sirens scream
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| You talk of peace, vacation dreams — and reinforce the wall
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| Now in the queues at immigration, in the border zone
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| We are your bastard children, all coming home
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| And every day you try to build a higher wall
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| Every day you try to build a higher wall
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| But your money cannot stop us
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| And you violence cannot stop us
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| No you will never stop us with your higher wall |