Play that guitar before land and identity is taken for a generation
before a new regime declares itself in your beliefs
Or a new trend that sinks in and vacuum packs you into conformity
Play those cords while rocks crumble
Those precious mysterious riffs we thought you were not capable of
The remaining group of refugees pack their things to leave
half of their possessions already stolen
And like a stream we must run into the sea
They turn the world temporarily converting the army into the police
Arresting us on the street pointing their guns and good intentions
Off we are shipped as father in the sky strums his guitar
Those of us who are listening can hear his music and imagine the change of cords
Through the clouds the impossibility of losing love becomes obvious
We find strength and reinforcement despite all disregard
The world is our prison and our paradise
Play that guitar hitting those cords you know best
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