Verse I
I am the tired, I am the poor
one among the huddled, yearning
where's the lamp beside your golden door
alas it's made only of gold now

No asylum for me within,
the thunder of walls are forming
I foresee the stench of émigré camps
and gates sadly, slowly closing now

Verse II
once again it's common place,
for a people to live in persecution
driven out, and locked within
these once hallowed halls

you turn your hearts, bury your heads
and call it retribution
your gates will rust and they will cease
by the guise of your ******* up laws

Chorus
Who will be the one
when your judgment day is done
who says yea or nay
who will wield that gavel

Who will turn the key
and darken a land once free
like Jesus to the cross
or Barabbas to the rabble

Verse III
I am the wretched from distant shores
tempest-tossed and dying
now you are locked behind your doors
no longer free and brave

maybe someday when seasons turn
and yours is the soul that's crying
perhaps I'll be the one who'll spurn
and send you to your grave

Chorus
Who will be the one
when your judgment day is done
who says yea or nay
who will wield that gavel

Who will turn the key
and darken a land once free
like Jesus to the cross
or Barabbas to the rabble