| Tired muscles, tired eyes
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| Can’t sleep through this Oaxacan night
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| He’s kept away from dreaming, haunted by thoughts of failing
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| The family whom he shares a bed
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| A tiny room even less bread
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| He cries out to himself silently
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| I am not a man
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| I can’t feed my children
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| This is no life for them
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| So he’s out of bed with the sunrise
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| He kisses his wife and kids goodbye
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| Then heads north to the border
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| To work, become a provider
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| But gathered at the country line
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| Are protesters all holding signs
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| He can’t read but translates perfectly
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| I am not a man
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| I’m just a Mexican
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| Illegal immigrant
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| The politicians the pundits the public debate
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| But one question’s lost in policy
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| «Is a man not a man if he’s born outside a boundary?»
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| Stumbling through the desert alone and afraid
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| He almost dies from the heat
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| But he thinks of his family and that keeps him going
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| He won’t stop for death least the laws of a country
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| Arrested is no threat when you’re already living unfree
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| So he works the fields from 5 to 9
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| Plus any job that he can find
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| Saves up all his money, sends it to his family
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| Before he falls asleep at night
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| A thousand miles from his life
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| He assuredly repeats
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| I am a human
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| A father a husband
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| A global citizen
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| Not a debatable statistic
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| I’m not your problem economic
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| I’m not a threat to patriotic
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| That’s idiotic
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| I am a… |