There is no rubble in my street,

No bombs, no shells and no rockets.

The people have their fill to eat,

Cash is bulging in their pockets.

 

Down our way the lights are shining

And the windows remain unsmashed.

Our access to fun’s not declining;

No hopes for the future are dashed.

 

All sick and injured are treated,

Not shot and abandoned for dead.

Our wealth is far from depleted

And nobody begs for their bread.

 

On balance, I’d rather be here,

Though guilt can give way to despair.

Must I remain shielded from fear,

Or should I be heading out there?