He was just a lad
When the western wind came drizzling
Fanning the embers that burnt his hut
He was in the hut
He was still a lad
When the river from the west came flowing
Carrying away the cowries and stones
Up across the oceans and the mountains
When the left hand the lion-skin drum broke
And it produced humming cacophony
That gets the ancestors stunned
He is still a lad
Though the western wind has cooled off
But the rain is still beating him
Still on the western river he floats
In the river his hut he searches
But an image of his he sees
A dying old man in a lad’s body
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