And What If It Were Me

And what if it were me,
Postered on a wall,
Face to a faceless street,
Watching people making calls?

I swear I’ve seen their faces,
Once or twice before,
I recognize her braces,
I know I’ve heard him snore.

And though I can’t quite place it, 
This thought can’t be ignored,
They could be my relations,
The posters they have torn.

And what if it were I? 
Who had died inside the dark?
Would my friends have cried?
The ones who love to march?

For there was one photo,
Of a missile that was shot
Into a place I loved, 
On a street I used to walk.

It could have been my body,
That was ripped apart and spent,
It could have been me standing there,
Where the bomb had made it’s dent. 

If it had been my picture,
Hanging up upon a wall,

For I was taken hostage,
By the worshippers of Baal,
Would you care if someone tore it down,
Or would you lack the gall?

Because I’ve seen you find the courage,
To march for many affairs,
It just seems that since we’re Jewish,
You can’t seem to muster up the care.