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
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