Joan Baez - I Pity the Poor Immigrant

I pity the poor immigrant
Who wishes he would have stayed home
Who uses all his power to do evil
And in the end is always left so alone
That man who with his fingers cheats,
Who lies with every breath
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise fears his death

I pity the poor immigrant
Whose strength is spent in vain
Whose heaven is like ironsides,
Whose tears are like rain
Who eats but is not satisfied,
Who hears but does not see
Who falls in love with wealth it self
And turns his back on me

I pity the poor immigrant
Who tramples through the mud
Who fills his mouth with laughing
And who fills his town with blood
Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass