Sancaro, The Death Of Guapameis

The elder sighed, pictures of home

They crossed his mind as they had been

He knew the times had changed and wild was civilised.

He felt his body old and worn,

He said his heart was cold and torn

But as he spoke, I saw gold under stone.

To I his child, hiw words were sharp

And drew the while the land

Had seen those peaceful times

Be changed and shove his world aside.

We left our home now old and worn,

our dying culture cold and torn,

back home, no more gold under stone

We must return to the oceans of dab-shi

This is our own way to be now,

From sancaro we must leave.

This part of home in guanjama

Now bleeds with foreign needs, money.

We walked for days, we crossed

Buantchama where we stayed

With whom would take us in for trade,

Of food for words that counsil made,

And to our backs the guapameis,

The jungle land newcomers praised

For riches made, they did take, they did make,

They could shape, they could tear down

Nature's maze and make their own where

They could say this is the home that we have made

And now the guapameis, this is the land that riches

Makes and we will praise, we will rape for our sake.

We must return to the oceans of dab-shi

This is our own way to be now,

From sancaro we must leave.

This part of home in guanjama

Now bleeds with foreign needs, money.

We have returned to the oceans of dab-shi

Here is our home, the land to be true,

To the daemon that we see.

This part of home in guanjama is free

From foreign needs, greed.

The elder died but he was home

In peace of mind, so glad to see throughout

The times no change had come to murder wild.

Now set his body old and torn, his lifeless heart

Set cold and worn but had he known...

We have returned to the oceans of dab-shi

Here is our home, the land to be true,

To the daemon that we see.

This part of home in guanjama is free

From foreign needs, greed.