The Council of My Motherland

Strike the masses, with hopes in prose To earn their trust, and thumbs in folds Kneel to the masses, to be put to council Chosen by the masses, to be their council Steal the masses’ offering, when put in council To flee their own, only from hassle To thee the council of the motherland Why do you cause pain bitter than labour Poverty strikes masses like thunder Indigenes molested like prisoners Strangled by the strings of hunger Whiles awaiting your promise to better the land To the mighty above, they are left to pray To sustain them without a pay For the day the fire shall turn red The evergreen’s scalp shall turn bald