On Friday in Dallas Texas, the twenty-second of November sixty-three,

John Kennedy called "Big Ass" was assassinated one shot in the neck and two in the head,

His funeral took place at the end of November, Harry Oswald shot him for some reason,

We were scouts, we played football, a murder report begins without a word of love.

 

On Saturday in Tel Aviv - A City Without a sky, November four, Ninety-five,

... was murdered, probably twice, by two shots from an assassin's pistol.

His funeral took place two days later, a madman shot him at close range,

We were at home, we sat just like that, then we went to cry in the square.

 

How many tears, how many candles?

How much madness can be identified?

How many days, how much darkness

Will it take until

All is forgotten

 

On Sunday in an unknown place, twenty-third of November ninety-five,

I write the song out of longing, where will I go now and what will I ask for?

These are days of rage, some say it's like this, they are days of once with days of now

How will respite come to the land of fear, and the question remains -  who else will be slain?

 

How many tears....