Written with Leon Lazarus

They’re not police, I heard him say
They’re men of guitar, they’re okay, (he said.)
Is it the skin? Is it the car?
If they want to kill us, We’ll have to drive far, (get away)

Every time I’m in this town
I see the hate, it brings me down
But I hear drums!
I hear drums!

The future’s bleak, and the past is dead
Sirens and screaming fill my head
Her son’s been stabbed, she’s seventy-five
The shebeen turned on him, and she’s still alive, (so sad)

But no one cries,
it was the third that night
the ambulance took him,
just another fight (too bad).

Every time I’m in this town
I see the hate, it brings me down
But I hear drums!
I hear drums!

Just a bed and a stove, no windows here
The air is stale, the cupboards bare, no food
You can try to be human, and lose it bit by bit
to flies on a donkey carcass, and the smell of shit

Hope on his knees,
Hope struggles and stands,
and life goes on,
while there’s strength in his hands (still strength).

Every time I’m in this town
I see the hate, it brings me down
But I hear drums!
I hear drums!

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Recorded by The Sighs of Monsters and available on Bandcamp.