Dedicated to: THE CIVILIANS IN EVERY WARRING NATION
I think I saw Mkomboz yesterday
Leisurely roaming about the Pearl of Africa
With an iron cup tied around his bowed-green gumboots
and listening to radio Tz of controlled Swahili.
Nodding his head like he was conforming to each sheng word
He wore treachery looks on his light browned face
and he was fast crossing the renowned courtyards of strife
And the infamous past precedent turmoil's grew fresh in his mind
trying to smile, but he was past love and cruelty
He had nothing else to say; to the prevails at hand,
So he blew a ten finger's whistle and wished me a three-piece
Spat on the ground in a strangling-trigger happy mood
Was he acting out of profound nervousness?
But, three-piece knots are for prisoners of war,
not civilians who sleep in warm beds during the night
and eat of the four-full course steaming meals in a day
wishing that if all was well as probably in Heaven,
Then, God's foolishness is better than our wisdom
For, laymen are taken as if too plain to fight for their own freedom
Yet they're stronger than their masters of the sword.