The Emigrant

here they come, with batons made of the white mans wits, with the sounds of our ancestral thunders, all in different shapes. marvelled we were, seing them fly in the air, and some down on moving huts, faster than our forefathers ghosts, he shouted a command, they attacked... we retreat, then we attacked. we attacked, yes! a karmikase, kpa! kpaa! kpaaa! tuue! tuee!, duum! duum!. That was the sound of their machine power. dead! we all layed dead. they sketched and exploited our land, then they left, yes they did with our land left barren.