Tear Gas Dries On Its Own

Tear gas in their faces Malicious militia’s hunt, The people we depend upon To bear the work we shun The caravan has reached our gates Their faces full of sadness wishing to work our fields of lettuce They’re greeted with our madness They leave a dying state to pick Our fruit and grapes with gladness Caring for our golf course lawns Our children, if they let us. Like the trans Atlantic ship bearing Jews, called the St. Lewis If we turn them back, the gods who know our names, will eschew us..