listen as the trumpet sounds.
gather at the market square
and hearken to the voice
of the watchman.
our crops, our crude oil,
the wealth of our nation,
they are all taken away.
the treasure of our land
has become foreign exploit.
elders of our land
where is our birthright?
our glory, our pride,
they are all exchanged for money.
at the expense of our comfort
the elites grow fat.
the infants, the glory of our morrow,
they die in hunger.
yet you turn your eyes away.
but one thing is sure,
though we shed tears today,
we'll laugh at your downfall
tomorrow.
« return.