Come, break down my house.
Come, break it down with your hammers
your bulldozers and ugly angry men.

Break it down, cut down the trees,
turn the bricks to dust, the branches to ashes.
It smelled good the olive wood smoke
when it burned in my hearth.
Now it claws in my throat.

My house is gone, the trees are now cut.
My family stand in the swirling dust
and you laugh.

Laugh, laugh if you will,
but know this.
My house may be gone
but I have breathed in its dust.
My hair smells of the smoke of my trees.
My house may be gone.
My house may be gone.
But my home will always be here.