Sakwa Franc

Iron Mask

Trod in footsteps of her history

Perhaps you will uncover hidden mystery

It\'s a journey to walk and discover her ministry

When eyes grow dim and conscience turns into casuitry

No vision no breath no smell all efforts are sophistry

 

Desire to speak with no freedom

She can\'t allaud her children in their stardom

In a foreign land with discomforts all is boredom

All her wealth and strength are in private fiefdom

Her children are slaves and wanderers in their heirdom

 

Identity is lost and burried

All virtues in her offsprings are impaired

It\'s hot it\'s heavy eyes turns red

A future that was aborted her people wallow in ocean of blood

A spectacle to the world all her fields are plastered

 

She is a slave

Her children departs at tender age to grave

No smile no laughter no speech she\'s told to behave

All her vain fruits are gathered in basketweave

It\'s dark it\'s dark it\'s a grave