NEXT UP! 3 182 Refugee Blues by W. H. Auden Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes: Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us. Once we had a country and we thought it fair, Look in the atlas and you'll find it there: We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now. In the village churchyard there grows an old yew, Every spring it blossoms anew: Old passports can't do that, my dear, old passports can't do that. The consul banged the table and said, ‘If you've got no passport you're officially dead’: But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive. Before reading What do you know about the Second World War and the Holocaust? Create a mind map. a mansion – stórt hús a yew – ýr (tegund barrtrés) anew – upp á nýtt The Green Tram, Bruno Caruso
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