In search of lost souls who have diluted the pure love
of our immortal ancestors.
The carrying vessel of the richest knowledge of old
We have forgotten who we are
And our souls we’ve sold

In search of lost souls whose soles
move in a different direction
The night we lost our way we lost our heritage
To fit in we mispronounce our sacred black names
Never mind our clan names, they’re too out-dated!

We have paralyzed the law poured down by our elders
Basic human kindness now comes at a price
Respect is not given, it is earned
Or so they teach us
Because in modern civilization,
being selfish equals self-love.

In search of lost souls who rejected our blissfulness
passed down under the baobab tree
Where our grandmothers painted our imagination
with their crafted story telling,
When it took a village to raise a child
A time when hands joined in prayer
celebrating Africa’s triumph.

I remember a time when chivalry
was more than just an alcoholic drink
When the sound of the drum
energized our grandfathers’ limbs
Once upon a joyful time
We were not beggars of our own Heritage