there's a farmer in a distant country   working on the land   a hat upon his head   and a shovel in his hand   till the soil, plant the seed   wait awhile, cut the leaf   and send another cup of tea to me      i'm a spoiled child    of the great imperalist state   i cannot kill my meat    nor grow the food upon my plate   i've never walked a mile to the well   when the tap runs dry to tell    what will become of you and me      what will become of us?   who will give us trust?   will you believe me    when i say i never loved    profiting from your pain,    that i felt shamed    when i looked the other way?      woke up this morning   the revolution knocking down my door   those capitalist pigs   no, they don't live here anymore   slipped out the back door,   into my car   how far can you drive?   how far?      there's a farmer in a distant country    working on the land   food turned into flowers    for the uptown flourist stand   but you saved, another paid   to turn his soil into sand   the world will not deliver on demand      what will become of us?   who will give us trust?   will you believe me    when i say i never loved    profiting from your pain,    that i felt shamed    when i looked the other way?