Fruitfulness, once our Name

Peace once our Aim

Unity once our Game

Faith once our Game

The fertility in our Home

World power in our Womb

We were becoming a Tome

Our Independence, standing firm like a chicken's Comb

All those years Gone

Our peace clothing Torn

So let us all Mourn

With the sound of a gun

Unrest, instability,now our Plight

The elite masses with public funds flee to catch Flight

Our future leaders future once called Bright

But all so dim, covered by Fright