Back in Gondwanaland

12/10/09

Nomadic forefather, please stop me in my tracks

Don’t know which way to go

Or how I should react

Warning roar of thunder, hear it, just beyond those hills

Gods fight for pride tonight

And I’ll sit on this virgin beach until

 

Aliens fly in

And I’ll greet them with a grin

Bid they take me back

Assuming theirs is suitable habitat

High demand

And it’s just like when I left Gondwanaland

 

Pioneers are apt to say these streets are paved with gold

Peace and serenity

Of brotherhood, I’m told

In shackles of deceit, bound to pretexts of freedom

Convincingly we were coerced

Content now to believe them

 

The lake is gone

But the acid rain of blood makes ponds

To baptize the youth

But somewhere in our pursuit of truth

We understand

And wish we’d never left Gondwanaland

 

Back there, in cupboards bare, or south of the borderline

On broken backs and burlap sacks

There isn’t any time

To mourn the passing of our families, countryman, friends

Systemic sickness long-instilled

That will be the end

Nowhere to go

 

We are gone

Marathon to Babylon

Humanity began in purity

No ethnicity, nationality or disparity

And here we stand

Oh, to be back in Gondwanaland