“They drive us to the sea. The sea drives us back. We are either slain or drowned.”  The Britons on the invading Anglo-Saxons.

 

It’s a mighty hard road where we carry our load

We’re darker in skin than the Ghost of Tom Joad

We flee from your war zones like rats in this hold

Your winter is hard and your welcome is cold.

 

We come from the Mahgreb, from Syria, Sudan

We bring few possessions - just the family Koran

We flee from the terrors that pervade the Middle East

We flee from destruction and seek only peace.

 

My father’s a tailor with needle and thread

And his was before him though both now are dead

One took a bullet to the back of his head

The other capsized and he drowned in the Med.

 

We died from starvation we died eating grass

We died from beheadings and we died from the gas

The lands that we died in each have their own name

But Europe or Asia we died just the same.

 

Look to my daughter and see how she cries

Then tell me you won’t help as you look in her eyes

We’re brothers and sisters and we bleed just the same

But show us your backs as you live with your shame.