Great Imperialist State - Simone White

There’s a farmer in a distant country working on the land

A hat upon his head and a shovel in his hand

Till the soil, plant the seed, wait a while, cut the leaf

And send another cup of tea to me

I’m a spoiled child of the Great Imperialist State

I cannot kill my meat nor grow the food upon my plate

I never walked a mile to the well

When the tap runs dry, do tell

What will become of you and me

What will become of us, who will give us trust

Will you believe me, when I say I never loved profiting from your pain

That I felt shame, when I looked the other way

Woke up this morning, the revolution knocking down my door

Those capitalist pigs?

No, they don’t live here anymore

Slipped out the back door into my car

How far can you drive, how far

There’s a farmer in a distant country working on the land

Food turned into flowers for the uptown florist stand

What you saved another paid to turn his soil into sand

The world will not deliver on demand

What will become of us, who will give us trust

Will you believe me, when I say I never loved profiting from your pain

That I felt shame, when I looked the other way