The Eighth Station of the Cross Kebab House

I'm sitting around at the checkpoint Keeping myself to myself My heart's going out to the girl with the gun She is young, she is fun, she is deadly She clocks off, goes back to the city Goes to a club with her friends I just took a walk through the checkpoint Past columns of poor Arab sons They queue through the day for a chance to make pay For something to put in their mouths He can't sleep at night without gunfire The lullaby puts him to sleep We stand there accused of the British collusion Israel into Palestine A victory for some an astonishing hope But for him it has brought devastation He lives like a prisoner in exile He lives like a prisoner in hell Dates black and white in the blue vault of space Swoop around like a symbol of peace Can they see the hawk? They're too busy in talk of love Why should they contemplate fear? Everyone meets in the cramped city streets Hipsters of zion collide To talk music and dross At the sign of The Cross We eat our falafel in peace The girl lets her uniform slip The boy cracks a joke he is sweet He listens to Hip Hop in Gaza She listens to Coldplay in Lod