He was an old man
On his last trip to Budapest
At last he felt like home
He was no longer a guest
He knew the best cafes
Often dined in Bagolyvar
Loneliness didn’t bother him
‘Cause friends were never far.

He felt Jewish in a synagogue
He was a Catholic when he confessed
He was an Orthodox at heart
He was so strangely blessed
He even liked some bits of Luther
But thought that Calvin was a jerk
And he still believed in Marx
But he was through with all the work.

She was a young girl
On her first trip to Prague
She’d been to Hague
And seen some justice after dark
She knew that the city
Was like a museum of the Jews
But not the way the Nazis planned it
Yeah, she could have been the muse.

She knew about the genocide
In fact, she barely escaped
She’d seen the loss of dignity
And people getting raped
She read the names on the Pinka’s walls
With a strange relief
Muslim, Jew, the pain’s the same
She shared the belief.