The people's palace

There is a house,

Just over the hills,

Full of every-day horrors 

And unspoken thrills.

It's made of stones brought from home,

Wood saved from fire,

And those who must roam 

Will find beds for the tired. 

It breathes, this palace,

Although falling apart,

And while the world is callous

This home has a heart. 

The house bears a story 

It’s marked territory

Though whispered all along its walls

Remain questions like: Did the sky have to fall?

Did waters have to rise

Did they not hear our cries

Would they've let us all drown 

If it meant they could wear a crown? 

They ask: What would you have us do,

When you already expect us to be better than you?

And they see that it will never be enough, 

They have long known, have caught our bluff.  

But the house reaches out 

And its walls expand,

Its roof reaches clouds

And it extends its hand. 

It whispers silently, 

I hear your pain, 

And I will listen to you over and over again. 

For you I will fight and cry and suffer, 

Because still, you'll have it so much tougher 

I will, without hesitating, sacrifice

And I vow see you, with open eyes.

For you I’ll cross borders

and I will curse nations,

I will love to spite order 

and resist my temptations.

For you, 

The house rumbles, 

I’d do it all over again

I’ll provide you shelter from any hateful reign.

Because when all is settled,

Even the dust,

My greatest honour will be hearing:

"You’re one of us."