by Simone White
There's a farmer in a distant country working on the land
A hat upon his head and a shovel in his hand
Till the soil plant the seed wait a while cut the leaf
And send another cup of tea to me
I'm a spoiled child of the great imperialist state
I cannot kill my meat nor grow the food upon my plate
I never walked a mile to the well, when the tap runs dry do tell
What will become of you and me
What will become of us, who will give us trust
Will you believe me when I say I never loved profiting from your pain
That I felt shame when I looked the other way
Woke up this morning, the revolution knocking down my door
Those capitalist pigs? No, they don't live here anymore
Slipped out the back door into my car how far can you drive how far
There's a farmer in a distant country working on the land
Food turned into flowers for the uptown florist stand
What you saved another paid to turn his soil into sand
The world will not deliver on demand
What will become of us who will give us trust
Will you believe me when I say I never loved profiting from your pain
That I felt shame when I looked the other way