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