A third country In a hotel by the sea We eat canapés and drink champagne As the Moon winks in the bay There is no suffering here There is only the night bird's song And two old fools in love
A third country Behind wrought iron and razor wire For the favor of a distant power Cages hold beaten souls A thousand miles away All those peacefully asleep Should pray the need doesn't grow And the meanings don't change
A third country Splayed across a pitted land Like a Sun-burnt martinet Playing lovers with his hand In this splenic atmosphere Placed like madness on your heads Psychic panic weaves in While compassion leaks out
A third country Arises in a dream Where bullets are precious things Only fit for the skulls of men Who profit from this suffering Has it always been That the rich and death embrace Like two old fools in love?
