Children of rape Raised on malnutrition Men in camouflage Filled with a sense of mission Light through the wire mesh Plays on the president's pistol Like the gleam of a bead of sweat in the flow of a candle
Hear the cry in the tropic night Should be the cry of love but it's a cry of fright Some people never see the light Till it shines through bullet holes
The tropic moon Bathing a beach fringed with palms Glitters on shells And beach tar and coke cans And on the night-coloured boat And on the barrels of guns In the rage in the hearts of these men is the seed of a wind they call Kingdom Come
Hear the cry...


