We were tricked by the cult of the ram
And we gleaned little from rivers of gold,
Then you robbed us blind; we grew poor and old.
All those ochre mountains were trucked to the coast
And shipped to rich fiefdoms paying the most,
Ferried across seas our fathers fought to save,
Guided by sailors on the wage of a slave.
The best of us, soldiers of a grim past,
Upheld you because they loved our land;
Then you broke the promises you cast,
Set not in stone; sketched on windswept sand.
Cream from your profits bought greedy political tribes,
Because that was cheaper than taxes and royalties,
And you accepted foreign investors’ bribes.
You sold our inheritance, along with your loyalties.
Always was and always will be
Meant nothing to you;
And it meant little to me
Until you stole from me too.
