The old man sits beside the Council Chamber, stretches out his hand br The officers pass by, their minds on paper br The small shields of security drawn around him by the month br Don’t protect him from the night and dusts of winter br br The land used up and over, cattle die up to their necks in mud br Choppers cross the border to machine-gun ivory br The villages have lost their trees and cannot nurse back any br So many children science left, to mothers of this Africa br br They wait within prefabricated words and walls br For the big black pots to fill with food of conscience br And when the meal is over, the bells of cities ring br For shifts of building bricks in export industry br br The shopping mall is crowded when the pay is out br The queues of supplication jumped by family or favour br The dust of town is somehow of a much more bitter flavour br Than the early morning milk of Mother Africa br br And I’m singing of the beauty of her eyes - br I’m thankful for the way she changed my life - br Of stars that fade as people rise and build their fires br In the early morning mists of Mother Africa.