Home Lyrics - Roger Waters

Oh, God! 

Sole has no eyes. 

Could be Jerusalem, or it could be Cairo 

Could be Berlin, or it could be Prague 

Could be Moscow, could be New York 

Could be Llanelli, and it could be Warrington 

Could be Warsaw, and it could be Moose Jaw 

Could be Rome 

Everybody got somewhere they call home 

When they overrun the defences 

A minor invasion put down to expenses 

Will you go down to the airport lounge 

Will you accept your second class status 

A nation of waitresses and waiters 

Will you mix their martinis 

Will you stand still for it 

Or will you take to the hills 

It could be clay and it could be sand 

Could be desert 

Could be a tract of arable land 

Could be a house, could be a corner shop 

Could be a cabin by a bend in the river 

Could be something your old man handed down 

Could be something you built on your own 

Everybody got something he calls home 

When the cowboys and Arabs draw down 

On each other at noon 

In the cool dusty air of the city boardroom 

Will you stand by a passive spectator 

Of the market dictators 

Will you discreetly withdraw 

With your ear pressed to the boardroom door 

Will you hear when the lion within you roars 

Will you take to the hills 

Will you stand, will you stand for it 

Will you hear, ohhhh! ohhh! when the lion within you roars 

Could be your father and it could be your mother 

Could be your sister, could be your brother 

Could be a foreigner, could be a Turk 

Could be a cyclist out looking for work. Norman 

Could be a king, could be the Aga khan 

Could be a Vietnam vet with no arms and no legs 

Could be a saint, could be a sinner 

Could be a loser or it could be a winner 

Could be a banker, could be a baker 

Could be a Laker, could be Kareem Abdul Jabar 

Could be a male voice choir 

Could be a lover, could be a fighter 

Could be a super heavyweight, or it could be 

something lighter 

Could be a cripple, could be a freak 

Could be a wop, gook, geek 

Could be a cop, could be a thief 

Could be a family of ten living in one room on relief 

Could be our leaders in their concrete tombs 

With their tinned food and their silver spoons 

Could be the pilot with God on his side 

Could be the kid in the middle of the bomb sight 

Could be a fanatic, could be a terrorist 

Could be a dentist, could be a psychiatrist 

Could be humble, could be proud 

Could be a face in the crowd 

Could be the soldier in the white cravat 

Who turns the key in spite of the fact 

That this is the end of the cat and mouse 

Who dwelt in the house 

Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt 

The house that Jack built 

Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt 

The house that Jack built 

Bang, bang, shoot, shoot 

White gloved thumb, Lord thy will be done 

He was always a good boy his mother said 

He'll do his duty when he's grown, yeah 

Everybody's got someone they call home