I walk the streets of the West Bank
Without fear, though the pirates drank
My spilt blood. My feet are torn,
Swollen by a dagger, a knife, a thorn;
Yet my heart is deeply - rooted in the land
Where we walk, band after bold band!
We are a soft breeze to our friends,
And gunpowder against hostile trends:
We march, and act; and we never sleep,
Because we have promises to keep:
Freedom beckons along the horizon afar,
Leading our footsteps, like the polar star.
We spare no effort, sacrifice or toil
Till we celebrate the liberty of our soil.
Last update: 11:23 AM Thursday, March 9, 2006
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