Kora

In the fields of my ancestors,
 a cry had begun:
"Kill the real people,
the Khoi and the San!"

From the end of a gun,
with the point of a spear
killing the peaceful
of those you hold dear.

Lost generations,
fathers and sons,
destroying a nation
with a chant that was sung.

The tears of the people
has bled the earth dry
as they gather their herds
beneath the dark sky.

They fled from the land
where their herds once roamed;
to the shores of the sea
since death took their home.