The island we call home’s a foreign shore
Made up of ghost towns built from our own hands
Ghosts walk for no one lives there any more
As everyone travelled to a new land
Travelling across the sea in a coffin
To a life that will never be the same
Don’t say what you have done. They won’t listen
They will own you and make you change your name
You have to smile in spite of the gloom
They don’t care for you are a refugee
Opportunities become delusions
And fortune relies on a lottery
But you still have dreams of a nice blue sea
From the island home that you’ll never see
18th February 2005
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