In the shit house a shotgun
Praying hands hold me down
Only the hunter was hunted
No stars in the black night
Looks like the sky fell down
Looks like it's chained to the ground
Broken back to the ceiling
I scream at the silence, it's crawling
There's a rope around my neck
And there's a trigger in your gun
I am someone, I am someone
Seen the coming and the going
Seen them captains and the kings
See them navy blue uniforms
See them bright and shiny things
Bright shiny things, yeah
The temperature is rising
Mister, I ain't got nothing
But it's more than you got
Not the shackles at my feet
Outside are the prisoners
A prize fighter in a corner is told
This song was written in a hotel room in New York City
Right about the time a friend of ours, Little Steven
Was putting together a record of artists against apartheids
It's a song written about a man in a shanty town outside of Johannesburg
A man who's sick of looking down the barrel of white South Africa
A man who is at the point where he is ready to take up arms against his oppressor
A man who has lost faith in the peace makers of the West
While they argue and while they fail to support a man like Bishop Tutu
And his request for economic sanctions against South Africa
WRITERS
Paul Hewson, Dave Evans, Larry Mullen, Adam Clayton