An herb of slaves
They punched us in the eyes
And draw the first blood
They have taken over
Our Feelings
For we do not know
What to feel; How to cry
What to fear; and certainly,
When to fight
We quarrel among us
Draw sword for the sons
Of our father
And the enemy cheers at us
Hail our folly & spit on the
Integrity of our heritage
We are the enemy
We are at each other's throat
While the slaves
Lay with our sisters
And drink our milk.