Striking while the iron is hot

Come along, let’s run in the street 
Our children aren’t learning,
Our nurses aren’t caring.
   
But our shoes are shuffling on the dirty street.
Who said we shouldn’t, who said we couldn’t.
   
Father Zuma, hear our desperate cry. 
Brother Vavi, preach it to the hills;
Preach it even as our democracy is killed.
   
My friends, Strike while the iron is hot
but the days, the days are not.
   
Cry cry about labour lost, and labour spent 
Season of strikes, seasons of change.
But little will be done; little that counts.
   
The people vote for one thing;
And in return they get nothing.
   
The lie at the heart of a greedy Alliance.
The country is fruitless, the people hopeless
All that is left are the sobs left by injustice.
   
Strike while the iron is hot.
Strike while there is still something left to rot
    Leaves the man in the street, screaming defiance. Wither the public purse, every last cent. Even though you live your life in the sky. Let’s scream at the top of our lungs.
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Feint & Margin

Feint & Margin is a weekly, online, Pan-African publication featuring writings and thoughts from Ordinary Africans who have Extraordinary minds. We represent the True Voice of the African Citizen.

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