Dear Ashkelon In the month I will be by and leaving you Prophets and philistines were soaking in the sea brine While I grew lean and dry and loved you When hope was made of bureaucrats Sitting fat and fluffed with fury Over this, and over that And though we can't rely on that We could have been so much better So much better than the past
Pray, under this carving stone I will not let you go Until you're far beyond their reach Now go, out to the balsam grove Where they will bury our bed sheets And our wedding shoes So no wolves will come and eat the leather And they'll wear their torn-out tongues as their talisman It's the seams they may sever, but the laces point to Ashkelon So tie your things together, break your morning bread and carry on Though the road holds strife Rhymes to build new life You will see now in the coming of The night