Sons of K\'nya,
Daughters of K\'nya,
Our land of pride
Has been revised
By the looters,
The thieves of thieves.
They\'ve rewritten our laws
To suit their own agenda
To plunder our green,
Our flag, they want colorless.
The budget soars
High in the sky,
Affordable only for
The privileged few.
People take to the streets
Of central Nairobi,
Striking in shifts,
Thrice a week,
Once or twice
Under the moon.
Strikes flow freely,
Strikers swarm
Like bees in the nation\'s streets,
Their voices calling from afar,
But unheard,
Instead met with black and white smoke,
Their pleas ignored.
Their tears flow
Like the waters of Nyando,
Streaming relentlessly,
Drowning out their needs,
Silencing their voices.
Orders come from above,
To end the strike,
To clear the streets\' congestion,
To suppress the seekers of justice,
The oppressor\'s hand strikes,
Weakening the resistance.
What will our neighbors say?
Our Excellency, the one who kills
The future of his subjects,
A lion who commands
His blue-clad soldiers
To conquer and subdue.
A misguided king
Who summons cheetahs
To prey upon the innocent
Creatures of the land.
Now behold, the nation is in darkness,
Movement is chaotic,
Businesses shuttered,
Investors flee,
Churches divided by decisions,
Oh, Excellency!
The Zacchaeus of our land,
The Levi of our generation,
Offering a small relief
To your tearful people,
Would it not kill you?
The white of our flag
Is no longer pure,
But the red still reigns,
As a reminder of your deeds,
A call for justice,
A plea for the nation\'s restoration.