After the funeral, breaking cola nuts
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We sit and reminisce, about the past
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and in her voice, only sadness
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her only son, taken from her...
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In every headline, we are, reminded, that this is not home, for us...
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In every headline, we are, reminded, that this is not home, for us...
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Second generation blues, our points of view not listened to
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Different worlds and different rules, a question of allegiance.
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Clinging to her bible and her scapular, and the memory of the way things were,
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I don't see hope, I cannot smile, I burn with anger all the time.
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We all read,
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What they did,
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To the black,
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Boy.
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In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
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Where is it?
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Where is home?
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Where is it?
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Where is home?
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I walk this modern tightrope of humility and belligerence,
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this tommy-rot and flag-waving is getting, me down.
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I want to stamp on the face of every young policeman,
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to break the fingers of every old judge,
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to cut off the feet of every ballerina,
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But I can't
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So I decide,
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and I just sigh,
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and I pretend, that there¡¯s nothing wrong.
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The teeth of this world, tear me in half, and every day I must ask myself, where, where, where...
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Where is it?
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Where is home?
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Where is it?
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Where is home?
|
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In every headline, we are, reminded, that this is not home, for us...
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In every headline, we are, reminded, that this is not home, for us...
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-----------------
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Where is Home?
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| Bloc Party |
