Barclay James Harvest. African. Zeneszám

Through the eyes of a child there's no wrong or right
No reason to hate, no need for a fight
No color, no creed, no malice, no greed
Till the child becomes a man

Give up your freedom, hand back your rights
Then change your color now you're black not white
And there'll never be a piece of the action
Now you're an African

Forget beliefs and swallow your pain
You're just a number now and boy's your name
And you'll never get a piece of the action
Now you're a working man

African, Asian, it's all the same
Brown, Black, Caucasian it's all the same
Slave labor, working class, what's in a name?
Far left, far right, center, it's power they crave

The politics of Apartheid, the politics of shame
The cold abuse of human rights of torture and of pain
Are only part of the action
When you're an African

The politics of making more, the politics of greed
The cold abuse of poverty to keep your labor cheap
Are only part of the action
When you're a working man

African, Asian, it's all the same
Brown, Black, Caucasian, it's all the same
Slave labor, working class, what's in a name?
Far left, far right, center, far left, far right, center
Far left, far right, center, it's power they crave

The politics of buying arms when there's no food to eat
The politics of digging gold instead of planting seeds
The leader with his private golf course and his flashy cars
Sits playing with his diamond wrist watch while the people starve

The politics of shooting down a plane that brings relief
By fat men playing power games who've got enough to eat
The politics of racial hate, the politics of war
The men who sell the guns have fun while we all count the score

One, two, three, four, thousands, millions
People dying just to keep them in the action

Through the eyes of a man there's wrong and there's right
A reason to hate, there's need for a fight
There's color, there's creed, there's malice, there's greed
When the child becomes a man