Rift of the Motherland

palm-wine music, highlife, Marabi, folk rock, Rebetiko, bouzouki, Tsifteteli

Verse 1:
Long ago, in halls of stone, where foreign tongues decreed,
The fate of tribes, the path of lands, unbroken once and free.
With maps unrolled and ink in hand, they cast the lots of fate,
And drew the lines where none had stood, a fractured world they made.

Verse 2:
A chief stood proud beneath the sun, his fathers’ land in sight,
But lo, the law of foreign crowns now cleaved his kin in twain.
One half to east, the other west, the drums no longer speak,
A whispered grief, a war begun, a home now split in pain.

Verse 3:
And so the battles came like storms, the clash of steel and cries,
The sons of earth, now turned to war, with fire in their eyes.
Yet foreign kings, they turned away, their deals long since were done,
And left the children of the land to fight beneath the sun.

Verse 4:
Now famine walks where cattle roamed, the fields no longer yield,
The schools lie silent, books unturned, the marketplace unfilled.
For where a hand should meet a hand, a border rises tall,
And kinfolk who once shared the fire must bow to foreign call.

Verse 5:
Yet though the years may wear the stone, the mountains ever stand,
And though the maps may carve the earth, the blood still seeks the land.
O sons and daughters of the soil, unite, reclaim the song,
For though the lines were drawn in dark, the dawn will not be long.

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Chorus: Sing, O Muse, of the lines that men have drawn, Where rivers flow and mountains rise, yet brothers stand apart. A border traced by foreign hands, unseen, unknown, And now the land is torn, the people riven, the wound unclosed. Verse 1: Long ago, in halls of stone, where foreign tongues decreed, The fate of tribes, the path of lands, unbroken once and free. With maps unrolled and ink in hand, they cast the lots of fate, And drew the lines where none had stood, a fractured world they made. Chorus: Sing, O Muse, of the lines that men have drawn, Where rivers flow and mountains rise, yet brothers stand apart. A border traced by foreign hands, unseen, unknown, And now the land is torn, the people riven, the wound unclosed. Verse 2: A chief stood proud beneath the sun, his fathers’ land in sight, But lo, the law of foreign crowns now cleaved his kin in twain. One half to east, the other west, the drums no longer speak, A whispered grief, a war begun, a home now split in pain. Chorus: Sing, O Muse, of the lines that men have drawn, Where rivers flow and mountains rise, yet brothers stand apart. A border traced by foreign hands, unseen, unknown, And now the land is torn, the people riven, the wound unclosed. Verse 3: And so the battles came like storms, the clash of steel and cries, The sons of earth, now turned to war, with fire in their eyes. Yet foreign kings, they turned away, their deals long since were done, And left the children of the land to fight beneath the sun. Chorus: Sing, O Muse, of the lines that men have drawn, Where rivers flow and mountains rise, yet brothers stand apart. A border traced by foreign hands, unseen, unknown, And now the land is torn, the people riven, the wound unclosed. Verse 4: Now famine walks where cattle roamed, the fields no longer yield, The schools lie silent, books unturned, the marketplace unfilled. For where a hand should meet a hand, a border rises tall, And kinfolk who once shared the fire must bow to foreign call. Chorus: Sing, O Muse, of the lines that men have drawn, Where rivers flow and mountains rise, yet brothers stand apart. A border traced by foreign hands, unseen, unknown, And now the land is torn, the people riven, the wound unclosed. Verse 5: Yet though the years may wear the stone, the mountains ever stand, And though the maps may carve the earth, the blood still seeks the land. O sons and daughters of the soil, unite, reclaim the song, For though the lines were drawn in dark, the dawn will not be long.

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