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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 itself 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
- Álbum:
- The Best of the Newport Folk Festivals
- The Vanguard History of American Folk Music
- 1976-05-03, evening show: The Warehouse, New Orleans, LA,...
- This Is Your Land: Songs of Freedom
- Live at Newport
- Really the Best
- Friends and Other Strangers (1976-05-03)
- How Sweet the Sound
- Vanguard Roots of Folk