My Ancestors Are Crying

Down the road in ages past, Visited by a people, Across the mighty waters. Clutching the big book and sword! All etching for the souls of our people. The sword killed my people. The book said, "Thou shall not kill." My people could not understand. They took some away, Weeping bare as they went, To accustom strange culture! Men gave up on the way, Oh! my ancestors are crying, Bring back my children. And again, for the oracle, They told us to pack. The oracle that tells us, The truth. My talking oracle gone? No! For the oracle is the soul of a nation. Oh! My ancestors are crying. Bring back, bring back!