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    I, the poetic son of Kongi,


    Who grew in the thorns of life And who has learnt to flee Lions that devour one''s dreams.


    In this world of pity, dwells animals, Trees and humans; but which one is real?


    We are all living at the shadow of truth. Even though there is a semblance of truth, In what we do and what happen to us.


    But, we only walk at the edge of truth,


    The world is at the edge of death,


    But as we know, civilization will be sceptical. People no longer see with their inner sight,


    They prefer walking with their empty sockets;


    Our days are numbered, we are the secret agents Of God, sent from the world beyond to come to This world and take possession of it.


    Then to pass through the bridge of death, to the


    Federal Republic of Jerusalem in heaven, to


    Deliver our diplomatic result of mission. But not