The Eighth Station Of The Cross Kebab House

I'm sitting around at the checkpoint
 Keeping myself to myself
 My heart's going out to the girl with the gun
 She is young, she is fun, she is deadly
 She clocks off, goes back to the city
 Goes to a club with her friends
 I just took a walk through the checkpoint
 Past columns of poor Arab sons
 They queue through the day for a chance to make pay
 For something to put in their mouths
 He can't sleep at night without gunfire
 The lullaby puts him to sleep
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 We stand there accused of the British collusion
 Israel into Palestine
 A victory for some an astonishing hope
 But for him it has brought devastation
 He lives like a prisoner in exile
 He lives like a prisoner in hell
 Dates black and white in the blue vault of space
 Swoop around like a symbol of peace
 Can they see the hawk?
 They're too busy in talk of love
 Why should they contemplate fear?
 Everyone meets in the cramped city streets
 Hipsters of zion collide
 To talk music and dross
 At the sign of The Cross
 We eat our falafel in peace
 The girl lets her uniform slip
 The boy cracks a joke he is sweet
 He listens to Hip Hop in Gaza
 She listens to Coldplay in Lod