| People throwing dinars at the belly-dancers
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| In a sad circus by a trench of burning oil
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| People throw belongings; |
| a lifetime’s earnings
|
| Amongst the scattered rubbish and suitcases on the sidewalk
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| Date palms and orange and tangerine trees
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| With eyes that’re crying for everything
|
| (Let it burn! Let it burn, burn, burn…)
|
| (Blood, blood, blood, blood and fire)
|
| So I talked to an old man by the generator
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| He was standing on the gravel by the fetid river
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| He turned to me and then surveyed the scene
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| Said, «War is here in our beloved city.»
|
| (Let it burn! Let it burn, burn, burn…)
|
| (Blood, blood, blood, blood and fire)
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| Some jumped in the river and tried to swim away
|
| Through tons of sewage; |
| they’d written on their foreheads
|
| Date palms and orange and tangerine trees
|
| With eyes that’re crying for everything
|
| (Let it burn! Let it burn, burn, burn…)
|
| (Blood, blood, blood, blood and fire)
|
| Let it burn, let it burn!
|
| Let it burn, let it burn!
|
| Let it burn, let it burn!
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| Let it burn, let it burn! |