They came in iron canoes from the endless waters of the sea,
a people so poor they could only afford one god,
and the greedy men of the coast, for a god they couldn't see,
sold their brothers to a people they did not know.
They sold their brothers, they sold our gold,
And when nothing was left they sold their souls,
They pillaged their present, pillaged ours too,
Leaving a generation too bankrupt to afford common sense.
Ours is a history of vindictive sibling rivalry,
Chop down a brother’s farm; your melons grow no bigger,
But we take delight in his family’s hunger and misery,
This Cain-Abel, Jacob-Esau, Joseph’s brothers, Judas gospel.
And it came to pass that in those days one arose,
And in a coat of many colours one night did he declare,
That we as a people could manage our own affair,
And he too was dropped in a well and quickly sold out.
Through our checkered history, one theme remains true,
That our leaders will betray us is no mystery,
They rip this nation apart and sell it in bits,
This is our lamentable story, a Judas History.
This generation gives me hope, only sometimes,
That we will in time break this vicious cycle,
but I’m cautious not to hope too much lest history repeats
For it’s only when the fire is out that grasscutters congratulate themselves.