We shall die out on the sand,
We'll aspire to big smoke,
Take pictures with the man.
And we'll call out for equality,
And they'll call back you are white,
And I don't know if they're talking bout
my flag, or skin, or fright.
And he'll say:
"There is nothing left to see here, boys,
There is nothing left to see:
We are young, and we are taught,
and we are read, and we are free."
We are holding out on someone
But they're somewhere out at sea
And we'll all march on blindly
Under mediocrity.
So mister minister of the ministry of women,
Can I hear your last decision without an editor's incision?
I'd hope that I'd get paid the same if I were a politician,
Or perhaps a business woman striving for a big promotion.
What I don't understand is no wave of a commotion,
Have you satisfied our hearts with your two daughters as your token?
Are you scared
We'll stand up?
In public?
On podiums?
On television?
And you'll say:
"There's nothing left to see here,boys,
There is nothing left to see.
They don't need the right to marry,
It's not like it's a universal plea."
I know I don't have the right papers,
But you can tell that I'm in need,
And you'll create an iron fortress
Around the country's corporate greed.
But you insist:
There's nothing, boys,
There's nothing, gentlemen,
There's nothing left to see.
