Lines of cold, exhausted people
Trudging down the road.
Their possessions on their backs.
It’s not a heavy load.
Braving dogs and border guards.
Smugglers take their fees.
Crowded trains and leaky boats.
Praying to be free.
It’s the Crusades in reverse.
As far as I can tell,
If the journey’s bad as this
Then home’s a living hell.