Shots ring out in Paris, the bells ring out in Rome Your photo's in the paper, buy you're getting old The omens say crime don't pay but each dog has its price
A boy is found in Naples, his body's in a ditch His young life counts for nothing when somebody's getting rich There's flowers on the table, he sips water she drinks wine And I don't think that mercy is the language of our time
Backstreet of Chicago a black man plays the gold There's a man on every corner says he'd like to buy your soul Bhuddists in the temple, bullets in the night Steeping out of their world, into your world, into mine
Written by : Kerr/Burchill Reproduced Without Permission