In black and white this kingdom stands
   in ruins but not romains
   a place where laughter cheers the deaf
   and happiness is in chains
   in every shack a mother lay and
   her children telling tales
   of the suburb in the south
  
   children yield the hand made blade
   their shadows swarm the lamp
   streets are filled with sand and junk
   and the air is thick and damp
   and life's as thick as blood on sand
   and death makes no demands
   on the suburb in the south
  
   dealers exchange possessions and the
   air is thick with rot
   paupers in their wicked ways
   cling to all they've got
   and the moon hangs high in the blackest night
   where justice softly moans
   in the suburb in the south
  
   dawn it comes with cock crows and dogs of skin and bone
   women come out to make their fires beside their broken homes
   and the poet he just dreamt all night of the chains that bound his mouth
   and the suburb in the south ...