The Story
The story some chiefs hammered in mischief
They merchanted the vehement voices that would cry
But the story is the same
The story cannot be forgotten so soon
That old old story
Is the story,this story,that story
Beauty and ugly;simple
And mighty and smooth and rough
The story that our nursing grand-mummies sang
In untold unsung songs
Echoes the "cri de coeur" of the unsung heroes
It's a story of sorrows
And joys
The story our fisherfolks
And peasant farmers would not sell in yesteryears
Our women too could tell no more
About our ornaments
About our monuments
Fears
Laughters and tears
The movements of our brains
And hands,and hoes,and cutlasses
And machetes and matchets
But this story must be told to our children
Their children,their children,their children
And their children's children
And their children's children's children
Once more,once
This story must be told
That this story is their story too
That if they don't tell their own story
Who will?
And who will...
Who will tell it better?
