Gun Salute

When they send a bullet into the heart of another,
Into the heart of foe once a brother,
Do they know what they battle for?
And if they did, would they fight some more?
I’ve seen children raised and bred to kill,
To a point where blood is all they will,
I’ve seen my Africa rip itself apart,
From the soul right through the heart.

We are always greeted by the sound of a gun,
Puncturing the rising sun,
As we kill one another,
If not foe, then our own father,
We tear the cities we live in into ruins,
And as we sleep amidst rubble we feel no pains,
We are happy to destroy ourselves,
And leave happiness to rot in unopened shells.

I watch as my Africa loses its soul,
In the absence of an enemy, we butcher our own,
I see fields that have not been ploughed,
Or young women that long have not been held,
I see the aged that cannot be buried,
And maidens that may never be married,
As the men fight war upon war,
And Africa decays more and more.

As they rape a continent, so too our mothers,
Our children, sisters, and in shame, our brothers,
They steal food they did not plant,
And do to all whatever it is they want,
My tears can no longer fall,
Do I still have any at all?
As I step across Africa I hear neither song nor flute,
I’m greeted by an unwelcome gun salute.