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