We play with paper dolls and Make the children get down and crawl We smile with uneasy hatred And catch the fruit when the tree is shaken Suck the juice until the skin is grey. Call us the masters of this place. We are the living whose lives are taken Our voices dead and our families broken We collapse into the street They tell us "Paradise under iron feet" - yeah "Love your master and God will love you too." Yeah-yeah Call us the slaves of this...