If you've never seen the distance in an immigrants eyes
Then you've never seen resistance in the form of a cry
He decided it was time to bring the drought to an end
The soujourner, soul searcher from whom i descend
Put his life inside his pockets leavin' on a plane
Living long lonely nights children wife left in labor pain
Tirelessly trying to provide he prized dialectics to fight for the slice of a pie
But this life was premised on a lie instead of being promised by society
The nature of economy is sodomy ten generations of poverty turned to poverty 
Later, and a third world diploma not even worth the paper its written on
With no elevators goin' up to the top ya'll
Instead its long days spent slavin over hourly wages
And when the clock strikes labor he savors the pages
Of letters sent by his kinfolk who invoke the image of what its like to have been broke through cigarette smoke
He tries to spin hope to dreams in close to proximity to family in his memory
And it is stated in between the night shifts and sleep a moment of clarity
He may never come home despite the familiarity of faces from his homeland who speak the same dialect
Fellow country women and men standin' in line to get greencards, visas, and passports
Barely makin' enough over half a paycheck remitted with love
Strangers keep staring in disgust and distrust talkin 'bout this country's just us: no justice
His hope's enough to oneday return to his town to join his ancestors in their burial ground
Almost forgot how the countryside sounds but this time around the lost are never found
In the distance between home and where we live
Its the distance between a mother and her kids and
Its the distance that keeps us apart and 
Its the distance between my soul and my heart