The Statesmen

Listen to the music of centuries Remembering looking toward peace "We must disentral ourselves" The congressmen Big black tires Big black men,black suits Siphoning your GRIT The corporate war profiteers Who are they as bats at night Chameleons in all natures Camouflaged at appropriate times Demagogues!the cause of poverty Be angry at the sun The public men,publish falsehood You are no Catullus you know; To lampoon these crude sketches of ceasar Struggle for power;and women for fame I stand alone dazed words giving way Blood gurgling down into the mud and sand This nation,A village of thorns and brambles The old earth is withered and undone While decades pass Pleasured in the dead's heritage Riots and robs, some busking in the glory of others Others salvation Others the lords of charity, Splashing dirty millions in altars and Holly stages You are begot and spawned in shame Little resources huge demands Oh wanjiku!How long shall the donkey tire for your load to be delivered?