Theme Form: The Lullaby / Siembamba

Siembamba, mother's little baby
See the mamba, mother's little child
Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch
Step on his head
Make sure he is dead

It's a blue and misty mountain
With tall and hungry trees
Footprints from a goldmine
The wind howls ill at ease

At the edge of the lake
Hyenas laughing wild
Wild horses in the distance
Don't cry mother's child

A root does not know
What a leaf has in mind
Evil comes in many forms
And some of them seem kind
It's an ill-wind that brings
No one any good

Siembamba, mother's little baby
See the soldier, mother's little child
Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch
Step on his neck
Make sure he 's dead

Who'd put the fire out burning
The one from deep within
Helpless and rejected
Desperate, disconnected
So hopelessly forlorn
Waiting for the dawn

Hateful love glides in the night
Evil wins the fight

A root does not know
What a leaf has in mind
Evil comes in many forms
And some of them seem kind
It's an ill-wind that brings
No one any good

Siembamba, mother's little baby
See the mamba, mother's little child
Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch
Step on his head
Make sure he is dead

Siembamba, mother's little baby
See the soldier, mother's little child
Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch
Step on his head
Make sure he is dead

Siembamba
Siembamba
Siembamba
Siembamba
Siembamba
Siembamba