Mother of Exiles, her bosom is boiling with putrid
hate
Her beacon points to where the Angels wait
Go back to the “Beast” that destroyed your land
Fight or Join him, I do not care to understand
I, Ruler of Land of Pilgrims, will close my doors
Better not set foot on my Golden Shores
Don’t give me your tired, your poor to rest on my floor
Deep into my waters they shall flee the war
Sea-washed bodies scatter at my Ancient Gates
They shall relive the violence, relive the Hate
“Blessed are the Meek” they shall “NOT” inherit the
land
Or ever be treated as the “Lord commands”
Yet they come in droves yearning to be Free
They are the wretched, the victims, the Refugees
Max O’Reilly
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