I'm feeling sad and so alone,
Since under these grey skies I've made my home.
I close my eyes and drift away,
Back to the land where I used to play.
Back to my childhood so wild and free,
Back to the home that I may never again see.
Because politics dictate, that I don't belong,
My skins to white, to sing the African Song.
So while prejudice and greed destroy my land,
I feel a pain no one can understand.
I pray that one-day peace will return,
To the land for which I yearn.
For the place that I should live and die,
Is underneath the Rhodesian sky.
And as a tear escapes from my eye,
I wipe it away and gently sigh.
I would rather have lived there and had to leave,
Than never have felt the Rhodesian breeze.
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© Sandy Botha 2003
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