Stand on graves and cast out the helpless. They arrive in waves to the illusion of hope. A 'caravan' of people, All begging for freedom, But fear not, They shall be murdered for they are evil.
How can they expect asylum, safety & security, from a land built on death? Where those in power face no scrutiny. Where an orange haired buffoon can thrive & prosper, But mothers & fathers cannot afford a doctor.
Yet still these people come here seeking a better life and how dare they do? With hands calloused from hard work, hearts filled with grief, spirits filled with belief; Don’t they know?
This is a land built out of the flesh of martyrs, On a charter that helps oppress its own population, A country that thrives off devastation.