The nights are strange
No growls, no grunting
The nights are cold
Not for the icy wind
But for noisy beasts
That prowl the night
The scent of grass
The dews on it
And wet mattresses
But the nights are strange
And all seem to be glad
Oh the Lion sleeps
For Mandela
The tears we shed,
Now I have no more tears
The world watch all die
And really nobody cares
The world is torn apart
The little place we lived destroyed
We have just our skin to save
O the cries we shed
The pain we see
The humiliation of people
The destruction of farms
Of beautiful lives
The tears of children
Separated from their parents
Grasping the hands of dying ones
When shall all these end?
The tears we shed
Once below the ruble called home
