Ecuador and the gold hunters

Prospecting for gold
Where eternity sold
Its soul from the earth
We now hear
And indestructible force
Direct from the source
The rainforests too
They will clear
Panning for gold
So many now sold
On the thought of the riches
It brings
Of the criminal gangs
With the enormous fangs
Into our land they have rolled
Buenos Aires the North being ravaged
Our streams and our rivers
Where we
Live and we play
In a wholesome array
Where beautiful rainforests be

Heavily weaponised gangsters
Take on the locals who fear
The police have swept through
With the army
With so much to lose around here
This is our birthplace
The land where we grow
Our ancestral foods
Its the land that we know
Convoys of trucks With equipment
In tow
Hangcock Prospectors
They now are on show

Their plant and equipment
Its making no sense
Destructions and pollution
What is their defence
For the mercury use
And sadly cyanide
Destroying our countryside
Its not denied
These people dont care
They come from far away
Some very poor
It is their way
Of making their fortune
And of solving their dreams
Of battling onwards
Into the seams

Some are locked up
But other are there
Tearing down Forests
The locals do care
Its beautiful countryside
Mountains and plain
Glorious weather
And all this disdain

Is causing great stress
Importing it, to
Homelands of beauty
Where family life view
A peaceful existence
And harmonious ways
Where stand ancient forests
And chaos now stays

Around us caught up
In the criminal stuff
Dust dirt and trucking
Most have had enough
These low life people
A gathering here
Desperate to strike
Their high debts to clear.

Its, bloody hard work
At the end of of the day
But the disrespect of our land
Doesn’t play
Into our feelings into our soul
They want out livlihoods
And to control

In the forest we find food
And medicine there
Fruits and some roots
The shaman will share
Hancock Prospectus
Are needing to be
Mined out and gone in a whisper
To see

That they have made a fortune
And ruined what we
What our ancestors died for
Few hear our plea
This is our land
This is our sky
Tis here we were born
And tis here we shall die

They come to insult us
Their uncouthness we
Have tomput up
Its our history
Defacing the area
More so wach day
All the ramifications
And ofcourse dismay

We hate confrontation
Having to resort
To dealing with criminals
With little thought
Of our ancestral standing
Our honeypot where
We live snd we breathe
The clean mountain air

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

HTML tags are not allowed.