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 seemed 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 freedom a worker with no place to work?" Yet they said, "Freedom is at hand." Guns cried out 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 freedom a worker with no place to work?" Yet 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 freedom a worker with no place to work?" Yet they said, "Freedom is at hand."