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