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There are judges in Jerusalem Oh, how many judges there are in Jerusalem
With sour faces, trying to find justice in the rotten laws
Like a mother peeling the rotten parts from an apple until there is nothing left to give
to the hungry children who are calling out But those are not the only judges
There are others, too The young judges of Jerusalem
Who see an Arab boy in Zion Square and sentence him to death blows
There are the judges who spray verdicts on the walls of mosques and burn the houses of
refugees And the judges in the coffee houses, nodding
their heads and agree and read the judges in the papers and now they know that there
is a monster in Jerusalem, a sloven murderer of children and they move quickly to the weather
forecast because they don't want to think or to recall the errors that they too make
and they don't want to think what would have happened if
How many judges there are in Jerusalem And how many gates in Jerusalem
There are 100 gates in Jerusalem At every gate, there is an officer
And every officer in Jerusalem is a judge And every gate in Jerusalem is a song
Songs, gates, judges, officers And I ask: why is there no truth in Jerusalem?
Why is there no silence, even for a moment?