Catapulting stones from the wands of the wicked,
over the fence, into the safe zone; flooding your streets.

If I could give you my land, if I could give you my books, if I could fly over, I'd whisk you away and bring you to a new sea. I'd guard you with my arms spread apart, reaching.
I'd stand there in the dirt, the wingspan of a Condor, guarding you.

These words though, are nothing, it's all a daydream.

On the other side of the world, in this closest of a room,
under this fluorescent light, inside these fortunate walls, I'll fold my hands for you.