Our tribes make us, break us, and take us
They teach us to believe in differences when we are all the same
They have blinded us to become fools of a game
They make us deaf to the native tongue that we speak
To the food that we eat and the dreams that we seek
To the poems we all know so well
To the wounds that bleed and swell
Ignorant are we from all allowing ourselves to become broken
Instead of searching we have lost are only token
We continue to step and take
Shake and break
The puzzle that made us whole
That we forget that the roots we planted are dying
Tears are shed and mothers are crying
Children are running looking for ease
With their hand’s in the air praying oh God please
Our roots that thrive in the vibrant horn
Have become weeds uncared for and torn
Do you know the stories of the punt land
Nurtured by love and grown by hand
Known for its culture a hidden mystery
A place where elders are the holders of history
Where poems roll of the tongue so easy and fine
That each moment is made with just one line
The horn of Africa hear it cry wailing sounds of sorrow
It play deep, desperate tunes awaken for tomorrow
Dawn to dusk the people pray for God’s creation
Each day’s a fight for a falling nation
The sound of whispers, stories and poems from the past
Are heard along the land of screams until the very last
From huts of mud to kingdoms of gold
Till the fall of man only faith to hold
The pages of a book that lift a curse
A powerful message behind each verse
See the key to happiness is simple and yet the very best
Truly in the remembrance of God do hearts find rest
So horn of Africa keep playing your beat
To the sound of faith with marching feet