In a land where the sun has set, could there be some hope yet.
To recreate all that was before, the present breakdown of rule of law.
After all what did we love, I have to ask the Lord above.
A building or a tarred road, or things like the grunt of a toad.
The setting sun, the morning mist, these are the things we've really missed.
Fish eagle's cry, dry river beds, these are the things that fill our heads.
Bright blue sky, summer thunder storm, these are the things we call the norm.
The dappled shade, a fleeting buck, these are the things we miss so much.
Forefathers came where there was none, to toil under Africa's sun.
Create a home for you and me, a place to raise a family.
Roads, power and technology, it all cost, naught is for free.
To carve out the way of life we know, plough the land and seed to sow.
Wars were fought for what we love, with guidance from the Lord above.
A British flag we flew for long, our soldiers and minerals made them strong.
But in Rhodesia's hour of need, the British wilted like a weed.
Rhodesia was the sacrificial lamb, now Britain is an also ran.
We are scattered now here and there, with memories of a land so fair.
Our children live another way, the memory fades as we melt away.
For those that were there for UDI, slowly age and then we die.
Our grand children will hardly know, what our fathers worked so hard to sow.
We'll be a small part of history, in that we fought and then to flee.
Across the world to other lands, forming little Whenwe bands.
But what of the land that we have left, will it ever with peace be blessed.
Will it die like those up north, to later be taken by a foreign force.
Will Africa ever be worthy of, the toil and sweat and given love.
That team creation be a way of life, to replace all the present strife.
With all working for a common goal, eliminating the sickness of the soul.
For where is this freedom that's come and gone, the people there sure got none.
An empire for the ruling class, makes the word a complete farce.
The winner sure takes the prize, as we wait for another African uprise.
Could a new ruler make any change, that's what makes Africa strange.
But all this wasted time you see, we will treasure a wonderful memory.
Written by Pete Barlow
Email : Pete Barlow