We walked out of the garden but none of us the wiser
With just the sickly aftertaste of too ripe apple cider
And then there we were all full of words but an echo deep inside us
We were free but we were lost amongst the scarcity and yearning
For everything just out of reach that set desire burning
And all the things we’ve never had is proof we’re undeserving
They’ll burn the world for money
They’ll privatise the air
Their mercenaries know the drill
They know that nothing’s fair
The roads are full of pilgrims looking for an open hand
In the well armed place of plenty, the money changers plan
You can only cross the border if you sign over your land
And the border guards feel pious as they unlock all the chains
The wealthy make a promise that there’ll be a fair exchange
We’ll give you shelter give you work if you agree not to complain
bob's songs 