The Eighth Station Of The Cross Kebab House - Belle & Sebastian

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

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