Home

Could be Jerusalem, or it could be Cairo

Could be Berlin, or it could be Prague

Could be Moscow, could be New York

Could be Llanelli, and it could be Warrington

Could be Warsaw, and it could be Moose Jaw

Could be Rome

Everybody got somewhere they call home

When they overrun the defences

A minor invasion, put down to expenses

Will you go down to the airport lounge?

Will you accept your second-class status?

A nation of waitresses and waiters

Will you mix their martinis?

Will you stand still for it

Or will you take to the hills?

It could be clay and it could be sand

Could be desert

Could be a tract of arable land

Could be a house, could be a corner shop

Could be a cabin by a bend in the river

Could be something your old man handed down

Could be something you built on your own

Everybody got something he calls home

When the cowboys and Arabs draw down

On each other, at noon

In the cool, dusty air of the city boardroom

Will you stand by a passive spectator

Of the market dictators?

Will you discreetly withdraw

With your ear pressed to the boardroom door?

Will you hear when the lion within you roars?

Will you take to the hills?

Will you stand, will you stand for it?

Will you hear, oh, oh, oh, when the lion within you roars?

Could be your father and it could be your mother

Could be your sister, could be your brother

Could be a foreigner, could be a Turk

Could be someone out looking for work

Could be a king, could be the Aga Khan

Could be a Vietnam vet with no arms and no legs

Could be a saint, could be a sinner

Could be a loser or it could be a winner

Could be a banker, could be a baker

Could be a Laker, could be Kareem Abdul Jabar

Could be a male voice choir

Could be a lover, could be a fighter

Could be a super heavyweight, or it could be something lighter

Could be a cripple, could be a freak

Could be a wop, gook, geek

Could be a cop, could be a thief

Could be a family of ten living in one room on relief

Could be our leaders in their concrete tombs

With their tinned food and their silver spoons

Could be the pilot with God on his side

Could be the kid in the middle of the bomb sight

Could be a fanatic, could be a terrorist

Could be a dentist, could be a psychiatrist

Could be humble, could be proud

Could be a face in the crowd

Could be the soldier in the white cravat

Who turns the key in spite of the fact

That this is the end of the cat and mouse

Who dwelt in the house

Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt

The house that Jack built

Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt

The house that Jack built

Bang, bang, shoot, shoot

White-gloved thumb, Lord, thy will be done

"He was always a good boy," his mother said

"He'll do his duty when he's grown"

Yeah, everybody got someone they call home