Everyday we wake and run, not as if we do them wrong just because it's thier turn to be up in front.
I curse the day that we were born now that young and old are burnt all without a horn.
Run and run the shacks are burnt, Run for help the hills are bombed, Run in spite of right wrong. The brute is here with punch.
We have not been spared a place, Our sons and daughters all displaced. What a pain!! A big disgrace as our farms are razed.
