Another suburban Yiddish morning,
Rabbis are praying at the Wall;
They have to shout above the wail of air raid sirens,
They don't see anything at all...

"Terrors" chant their litany of hatred and destruction,
But tell us all they want to do is fast;
Olev stops and stares into the distance,
He knows that this day just might be his last...

Many miles away,
There's a dark, swirling cloud
In the middle of a crowded marketplace

Another conscripted soldier's morning
His "brethren" point their rifles to the sky;
He walks unhindered through the funeral lines today,
He doesn't have to wonder why...

Mothers, daughters shout and scream,
Like hurt and angry wild banshees,
Yet, all he ever can do is to watch;
And every single meeting with these bereft families,
Is a consolation bottle of Scotch

Many miles away,
Someone crawls to a market
From the middle of a street

Another working day's begining
A rush hour from hell makes front page,
Trapped like guinea pigs inside their metal boxes,
The victims of a suicidal rage;
Yosef grabs his steel and sprays along into the distance,
The infidels' defenses are in vain;
She sees the madman's gun now, looming in her mirrors,
A searing pain that makes her eyesight wane...

Many miles away,
Someone knocks on the door of a Palestinian store;
A whole bloc lies in wait...

Many miles away...
Many miles away...
Many miles away...