In the narrow streets of Gaza, you can hear the infants cry, in the narrow streets of Gaza where Israeli missils fly. It happened oh so long ago, as the story goes, about a people and their god with a land that was made of gold. The streets now run red with the heavy sorrows of the day, and the gods all laugh like tiny spoiled children innocently at play. The news lady tells us who is right and who is wrong, but I can still hear that mother howeling her lonley unsung song. In the narrow streets of Gaza, you can hear the babies cry. In the narrow streets of Gaza, where rockets fill the sky… Israel is afraid to go in. The hatred within the hearts of the Hamas fighters is heavy… These people were born into a hopeless concentration camp. Israel killed their grandmothers, their grandfathers, and killed their brothers and their sisters. Israel crushed their houses and demolished their dreams. They want you to come in, oh Israel! They want their revenge with red hot flames in their eyes! Hamas fighters kiss their mothers goodbye, for they know that they shall not return. They go with honor to quench their revenge. You tremble in fear, oh Israel! The fruits of your labor now await you in the narrow streets of Gaza.
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