Freedom is at hand

We have walked all the highways,
Yet where have we gone?
We planted dreams along the byways,
What else is there to be done?
We spoke of peace, pure and simple.
They seem not to understand.
We asked them to free our people,
They said, “Freedom is at hand.”

We asked, “Is freedom a farmer with no land to farm?
Is freedom a fisher with no river to fish?
Is a freedom a worker with no place to work?”
Yet they said, “Freedom is at hand.”

Guns carried loud as night drew near.
We hurried for home to our children aged in fear;
Whose dreams are made of stone.
“Peace,” we said, “is not an empty plate
nor a man with no land.”
“Freedom, we can no longer wait.”
They said, “Freedom is at hand.”

We asked, “Is freedom a farmer with no land to farm?
Is freedom a fisher with no river to fish?
Is a freedom a worker with no place to work?”
Yet they said, “Freedom is at hand.”
(Repeat)

Yet they said, “Freedom is at hand.”