And Even I Get Sick of Needing to Be Sold

This is where the helicopters came to take me away.
This is where the children used to play.

This is only half a mile away from the attack.
This is where my life changed in a day
And then it changed back.
Buried in the din of rotor noise and close explosions,
I do my best to synthesize the sounds and my emotions.
This is where the allies bombed the school,
They say by mistake.
Here nobody takes me for a fool, just for a fake.
Later at the hotel bar, the journalists are waiting;
I hurry back to my guitar while they're commiserating.

And I'll be leaving soon,
I'll be leaving soon.

Just as soon as we were on the ground,
We were back in the jet.
Just another three day foreign tour we'd never forget.
It's hard to sympathize with all this devastation,
Hopping 'round from site to site like tourists on vacation.

And I'll be leaving soon,
I'll be leaving soon.

I can't help anyone cause everyone's so cold.
Everyone's so skeptical of everything they're told.
And even I get sick of needing to be sold.

Though it's only half a month away, the media's gone.
An entertaining scandal broke today, but I can't move on.
I'm haunted by a story and I do my best to tell it.
Can't even give this stuff away, why would I sell it?
Everybody's laughing, while at me they point a finger:
A world that loves its irony must hate the protest singer.

So I'll be leaving soon,
I'll be leaving soon,
I'll be leaving soon.