Sacred seats of diplomats I sit
Head to head we discuss issues
This is no dream take your seat
Great eight meeting pressing issues
The sky is a small container
Sweet sweat notes to be kept
This success can no one alter
Even when life goes it is left
Oh! I can remember those days
The fight between the soil and my hoe
Barefooted boy since the great conversion days
Talk about class I am low
Days under the great glowing sun
Bank of water falling from my body
Heat hitting no respect even to burn
This is neither tragedy nor comedy
This round black part of me Negro
Empty for days without solid substance
Rare resolution it is up I go
I know I’ll stand a chance
My wars of yesterday am done with
The fallen enemies shall stay dead
Hunger and poverty out of breath
Now in peace I lie on my bed
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