The olives groves you uprooted
And the homes you bulldozed

They may be gone now
But the soil must still know

To whom the land belongs.

From the rubble,
From the blood,

New branches will grow.
New homes will rise.

Because doves will fly on blood specked wings
To pass on the message
That Palestine still sings:

of the children you shot
and the blood that you spilled

The young men you imprisoned
and the hope you hoped would rot.

Our children have been promised
Your so-called promised land

So don't get too comfortable
On my well-worn couch.

I'll come back to reclaim it
My couch, my country, my land.