Welcome home our hero, Patrice Lumumba

Out we go to pomp and pageantry.
All sons and daughters of Africa.
We'll weep no more.
We've had enough of it. Our tears have ran dry.

Six decades of mourning. Searching for the cadaver of a hero.
Now we found it.
A golden tooth in a padded box.
That too, was stolen away.

A macabre memento.
A hunting trophy for the murderer from Belgium.
His gun tore through the heart of the hero.
So gentle and noble he was, at thirty-four.

One year older than the crucified Christ of the Christian Bible.
Never did the Messiah see a fraction of the pains our hero suffered.
Through the golden tooth found in the padded box, Lumumba spoke truth to authority.
Those unblemished dentures chewed and poured bitter words on the fiendish oppressor.

Brave he was, as those who were before him. The true sons of the soil. Like Ghana's Kwame Nkrumah, their measure.
Today, our hero returns in a padded box.
Shot and killed at the stake in the Belgian Congo.

Dismembered and doused in acid.
But his soul never died.
Yes, he lives. Ooh, yeah, he lived.
Patrice Lumumba, you lived and still lives.

Our hero, you're welcome home.
King Leopold II had a gun that killed the flesh.
An axe that disfigures.
An acid that wipes traces of the crime.

But not a power that destroys the African soul.
Congo will live. Africa will forever live to haunt Belgium.
Welcome home our hero.
We've prepared a place for your final rest in the land of your birth.