Home
[Jim:] "Oh, God!"[Californian Weirdo:] "Sole has no eyes."
Could be JerusalemOr it could be CairoCould be BerlinOr it could be PragueCould be MoscowCould be New YorkCould be LlanelliAnd it could be Warrington
Could be WarsawAnd it could be Moose JawCould be RomeEverybody got somewhere they call home
When they overrun the defencesA minor invasion put down to expensesWill you go down to the airport lounge
Will you accept your second class statusA nation of waitresses and waitersWill you mix their martinisWill you stand still for itOr will you take to the hills
It could be clay and it could be sandCould be desertCould be a tract of arable landCould be a houseCould be a corner shop
Could be a cabin by a bend in the riverCould be something your old man handed downCould be something you built on your ownEverybody got something he calls home
When the cowboys and Arabs draw downOn each other at noonIn the cool dusty air of the city boardroomWill you stand by a passive spectatorOf the market dictators
Will you discreetly withdrawWith your ear pressed to the boardroom doorWill you hear when the lion within you roarsWill you take to the hills
[Oh, will you standWill you stand for itOh, will you hear when the lion within you roars]
Could be your fatherAnd it could be your motherCould be your sisterCould be your brother
Could be a foreignerCould be a TurkCould be someone out looking for work
Could be a kingCould be the Aga KhanCould be a Vietnam vet with no arms and no legsCould be a saintCould be a sinnerCould be a loserOr it could be a winner
Could be a bankerCould be a bakerCould be a LakerCould be Kareem Abdul Jabar
Could be a male voice choirCould be a loverCould be a fighter
Could be a super heavyweight [ooh]Or it could be something lighterCould be a crippleCould be a freakCould be a wop, gook, geekCould be a copCould be a thief
Could be a family of ten living in one room on reliefCould be our leaders in their concrete tombsWith their tinned food and their silver spoonsCould be the pilot with God on his side
Could be the kid in the middle of the bomb sightCould be a fanaticCould be a terroristCould be a dentistCould be a psychiatrist
Could be humbleCould be proudCould be a face in the crowd
Could be the soldier in the white cravatWho turns the key in spite of the factThat this is the end of the cat and mouseWho dwelt in the houseWhere the laughter rang and the tears were spiltThe house that Jack builtWhere the laughter rang and the tears were spiltThe house that Jack built
Bang, bang, shoot, shootWhite gloved thumbLord thy will be doneHe was always a good boy, his mother saidHe'll do his duty when he's grownYeah, everybody's got someone they call home