I Pity the Poor Immigrant - Bob Dylan

I pity the poor immigrant

Who wishes he would've stayed home

Who uses all his power to do evil

But in the end is always left so alone

That man whom with his fingers cheats

And 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 builds 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