You have traveled halfway around the globe
To remove us from living in our homes.
You sit on your horses in purple robes,
And talk of your proud cities filled with domes,
Claiming that you’re the superior race
Because you have mastered a curved ceiling.
You remind us that we should know our place,
And give to support your profiteering.
You point your greedy hands to our mountains,
Expecting to find lost cities of gold.
We have told you we’ve never seen such wins,
And you reply that our lies are so bold.
It’s better to point you to this fiction
To leave alone our old habitation.
John Collings 