Roger Waters - Home lyrics

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 cla** 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 pa**ive 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 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 a cyclist 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 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 Everybody's got someone they call home