Shining the eyes back to the ages
Glancing through the Black City
And Hearing the mystic rythm rid of pity
Of the jungle drums pure and untainted
All assets were in the primitive and unpainted

Shining the eyes back to the ages
Flipping through the pages
Of the Fathers, their fight against the cages
And their rage against the illusion and intrusion
Of the White Pearls
Their resort to self-government and liberation
The Black City was their heart,
Even as the earth is their home

Memories sway over time
Like a woman in her prime
They did had a sway
Behind they left scars and footprint
But things fall apart, in a blink of time
The Black City now in a declined sprint

The woven fibre of sisal, now an exposed ephod
The mystic rythm of jungle drums,
Now the concerto of the piano
Once a Black City against illusive White Pearls,
Now a land of dog eat dog

Our lost voices delivered by the Fathers
From the far away lands,
Now our own silencers
Liberation gotten from far away lands,
Now, what we bleed to have from ourselves
We lift high the banner of the land
Yet we sing our own anthems

Things fall apart, everything in a bay
The pieces wide afar, the centre cannot hold
Now in our own land as caged birds
Our primitive assets in akimbo
Hearts bleed in our own land

Even the Fathers wail in their sleep
Fear gripped, hearts sorrow
For a new splash of innocence
One sunrise, we long for from the Fathers
And the Pilot to look down with pity
And rain down a rebirth for the Black City