When noisome voices of change like a pounding swell
Finally crested the land--'our own land,'
Splendors of hope beamed up with a solemn knell
Revealing the unfettered gaiety slain by our demand
Of bygone days; we revelled in joy so high and tall
But in time did they metamorphose to be the Saul
Prosecuting their foes. Now that the table is turned about
And the masses left in wanton doubt
Lord, deliver us from their kiss of death!
Renascence of grizzled foxes dressed in angel's robes.
Obsessed with masqueraded will
And stately liss of cosied up boxes with kleptomaniac thobes
They labour to bargain away the last yam ungrill'd.
May those who feel and paint witty words
Have a field day--for sanity is maimed with no swords.
Ours is an open sore of timeless ridicule;
And even as vultures freely feed on remains unshackled,
Lord, deliver us from their kiss of death!
Beleaguered by scourge of persistent hard times;
When the highest currency can scarce get them bread;
Youths turn to crimes for want of dimes
And school children without dread
Drop out daily for their mother's wares remained unsold.
Oh, how gag mouthed we watch while tendrils of good mold
Are seared by suckers of hardship before our very eyes!
And since they are stone-deaf to our piteous cries,
Lord, deliver us from their kiss of death!
