You could be there
On a dark october night
Waiting for the moment to be
Swimming 'cross the freezing river
Holding a plastic bag of belongings just out of the water
Climbing up the banks on the other side
Hiding in the trees so cold
That you hardly show as a target
On the heat seeking gear of the border patrol
But you made it, you're another one over
Sleeping on a bench in a railway station
In the heart of Europe
Haven't eaten anything for two days straight
But where there is a will there's allways gonna be a way
And every door is guarded
And every guard costs money
So the women are bought and kept and raped and sold as slaves
Because the family borrowed from the man
And the man has allways got to be repaid
For the deals of the borders and the fake IDs
And the stolen passports all locked away
While the women are working and gagging down on their knees
And somewhere in the back of terminal 3
In the clogged-up corridors of the imigration authorities
Whole families with the wrong bits of paper
Are waiting to be sent back to where they came from
Escorted by officials out across the tarmac
With their wrist bound tight with cable ties behind their backs
On a dark october night
Waiting for the moment to be
Swimming 'cross the freezing river
Holding a plastic bag of belongings just out of the water
Climbing up the banks on the other side
Hiding in the trees so cold
That you hardly show as a target
On the heat seeking gear of the border patrol
But you made it, you're another one over
Sleeping on a bench in a railway station
In the heart of Europe
Haven't eaten anything for two days straight
But where there is a will there's allways gonna be a way
And every door is guarded
And every guard costs money
So the women are bought and kept and raped and sold as slaves
Because the family borrowed from the man
And the man has allways got to be repaid
For the deals of the borders and the fake IDs
And the stolen passports all locked away
While the women are working and gagging down on their knees
And somewhere in the back of terminal 3
In the clogged-up corridors of the imigration authorities
Whole families with the wrong bits of paper
Are waiting to be sent back to where they came from
Escorted by officials out across the tarmac
With their wrist bound tight with cable ties behind their backs
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