O Shaka

O Shaka, my father, my father, fallen To perfidy of deception My amputated glory On the golden glow of autumn My terminus and my rejection O Shaka, great Zulu, warrior, chief Momentous man of destiny That rode her horse unsaddled Why did you trust that half hearted brother After they gospelled him The missionaries in false feathers Promised thrity pieces of unpaid silver And never paid again Neither forty acres or the mule I cannot measure you by mass of their myth and history So that I do today Have nothing to show my children but a tale Your daughter, my father's grandmother Like a crumpled paper of genealogy avails Little for the glory of a throne And the private wonder Who throw the dice for man's fate Who before my face Closed the undiscovered gate?