At the sound of an alarm,

We wake!

At the smell of a brew,

We wake!

At the turn of a key

We move!

On our path to fortune,

We dream,

Yet, at the sight of the homeless child,

We forsake,

At the glance of the dirty man,

We judge,

At the recognition of a tune,

We dance, we sing

And to the soldier with no feet,

We scoll and blame,

In the sight of nature,

We destroy,

At the smell of flowers,

We restrict with concrete,

At the women's greif of her child now gone,

We blame the child's misdeeds,

We look at our neighbor,

And cast our verbal stones of spite

We come to your comfy home,

While the child you've forsaken only calls the underpath his home

You tuck your children to bed,

While the greiving mother lays against the empty one,

We carry on to home,

With only the concerns of our own,

I reject that,

For my neighbor's problems are my own,

For he is my brother, and the greiver is my sister,

And the lonely child is my own.

At the sound of this alarm,

I contend to wake,

Wake from this dream of selfishness.

At the sound of the alarm,

I contend to destroy my national identity

And put on a global identity,

For as strangers we are brothers and sisters, 

For the forsaken children, they are our own,

And for the world, this is our Home