The elder sighed, pictures of home
They crossed his mind as they had been
He knew the times had changed and wild was civilised.
He felt his body old and worn,
He said his heart was cold and torn
But as he spoke, I saw gold under stone.
To I his child, hiw words were sharp
And drew the while the land
Had seen those peaceful times
Be changed and shove his world aside.
We left our home now old and worn,
our dying culture cold and torn,
back home, no more gold under stone
We must return to the oceans of dab-shi
This is our own way to be now,
From sancaro we must leave.
This part of home in guanjama
Now bleeds with foreign needs, money.
We walked for days, we crossed
Buantchama where we stayed
With whom would take us in for trade,
Of food for words that counsil made,
And to our backs the guapameis,
The jungle land newcomers praised
For riches made, they did take, they did make,
They could shape, they could tear down
Nature's maze and make their own where
They could say this is the home that we have made
And now the guapameis, this is the land that riches
Makes and we will praise, we will rape for our sake.
We must return to the oceans of dab-shi
This is our own way to be now,
From sancaro we must leave.
This part of home in guanjama
Now bleeds with foreign needs, money.
We have returned to the oceans of dab-shi
Here is our home, the land to be true,
To the daemon that we see.
This part of home in guanjama is free
From foreign needs, greed.
The elder died but he was home
In peace of mind, so glad to see throughout
The times no change had come to murder wild.
Now set his body old and torn, his lifeless heart
Set cold and worn but had he known...
We have returned to the oceans of dab-shi
Here is our home, the land to be true,
To the daemon that we see.
This part of home in guanjama is free
From foreign needs, greed.
