Summer's Last Sound

And the gulls are coming in off the coast
The smell of corpses pulls them in
Mass graves uncovered, must be abroad — it can’t be here
I can sense your violence, but I still don’t understand
How when the past looks dead and you’ve got the future
In the palm of your hand
Run quick through (noble?) streets
Where killers hide
Our fruits get bricks in windows
And foreigners get hushed-up trials
And you’re waiting for a knock at the door
Which would tell you if you spent the next few years
Free from life attacked by petrol bombs
The price of bread went up five pence today
And an immigrant was kicked to death again
And I’m scared for my life for the first time in it
And we’ve known all along that a home can put your life at risk
So I guess we’ll just disperse again
And the crows are coming off the land
The easy targets lure them in
Don’t be absurd, it can’t be here
Until we find a place to settle
We’ll just keep moving on
We stay in flocks like birds, no one dares to move along
Across a sea of bleached skulls
Chased by death in all its forms
Over mountains, under suns
We shoot to kill, yet shoot for fun
Across a desert’s burning skies, we never stop to sleep and eat
Death always finds us in the end, its very shadows weeping
Over hot hamlets and plains, a killer wants to see us slain
Over fields of wheat and grain, through the endless, pouring rain
Why can we never find a safe place to land?
When we find ourselves through God’s providing hand
At the close of every day