Palestine trees bear a strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Palestine bodies swinging in the breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the olive trees. Pastoral scene of the palestine land, The bulging eyes and a cramped hand , Scent of olives, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is fruit for the vultures to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter Palestine crop.