|
I pity the poor immigrant |
|
Who wishes he would've stayed home |
|
Who uses all his power to do evil |
|
But in the end is always left so alone |
|
That man whom with his fingers cheats |
|
And who lies with every breath |
|
Who passionately hates his life |
|
And likewise, fears his death |
|
I pity the poor immigrant |
|
Whose strength is spent in vain |
|
Whose heaven is like Ironsides |
|
Whose tears are like rain |
|
Who eats but is not satisfied |
|
Who hears but does not see |
|
Who falls in love with wealth itself |
|
And turns his back on me |
|
I pity the poor immigrant |
|
Who tramples through the mud |
|
Who fills his mouth with laughing |
|
And who builds his town with blood |
|
Whose visions in the final end |
|
Must shatter like the glass |
|
I pity the poor immigrant |
|
When his gladness comes to pass |