Oh to be in Africa, Now the French are here

In the darkness
Far from light
No longer frightened
Of the fight
The boy crouched hard
Beneath the ferns
Listening for the rain that burns
He feared the jungle rumble
Of the murderous choppers
The vandal shoppers

Tis quiet now,
A night away
From the smouldering village
Friendly faces
Now nailed to fenceposts
The rooting corn
Untended
The rotting unwanted limbs
Uneaten
By the dead dogs