All those who dream
They are in Sicily or Berlin?
All those who live
They work for a London firm
or beg for asylum in Mytilene?
They climb on buses,ships, trains and trucks
Along with the unemployed,
the tourists,kids and lieutenants
Under the rain,under the heat
Within the mud,with no sleep
They are heading
They are heading
To a Terminal,
To a Port,
To a Friendly Door....
Oh God! Cruelty has a Human Face,
But you placed into Thy Hands of
This World down here,so much Grace.