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Dimed hope and shaded minds coloured by the blood washed from the street
Corners where our children carelessly play.
Broken bones and shattered dreams no sunny days in this part of the border.
Echoes of uhuru shake the ground but we dare not whisper ubuntu here, for
We are not terrorists but victims and inhabitants of where terror is.
Gun fires are but common songs we all haste to dance to, with our souls moving
To each shot…..we never fail to miss a beat.
We know too well what it means to say Ou baas and call another man “master” 
Whilst enslaving our beings for his amusement our minds remain free, barely.

Each day’s hope died with the one before the struggle for our liberation lies 
Entirely in our mental emancipation. Here we are standing upon the ground our
Ancestors were robbed of and all we can think of is the size of our wallets.
I remember a time when we chanted uhuru with the Congolese and we were one
As Africans. Now here they stand staring at our border fence that clouds their minds,
And shatters their hearts till all they can do is question the, genuineness of our past.
I remember when strangers were my brother and we found comfort in our unity.
Now nepotism is a language we know too well  who is he, he is clearly not pedi, go
Your way pedi’s only here.

BEE, black equality equated to selective oppression so we are forced to question are
We really free? Our forefathers chucked spears and our fathers clinged tenaciously to
Those rifles yet here we are and all I am to you is a door man, where is my democracy?
I still sing our freedom songs hoping you might remember what we were truly fought for.
And even as we are fading away like the true essence of our history I long for my child
To know in depth what we stand for as a country and my role in the building of a great nation.
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