The Morning Star
There’s a bright and burning star in an equatorial sky,
And it burns for a people who’s day is yet to come,
It burns with a quite burning,
It burns with quite yearning.
And it burns to the beat of a Melanesian drum.
And the drumming tells a story of that people and it’s cry,
Of the darkness and the danger and of sacrifice,
Of the alien in the land,
Of the bloody alien hand,
And of dead and dying in that paradise.
Hills and valleys take up the call of scarred and battered land,
And the cry goes round the world for those with ear to hear,
And it tells of desecration,
And it calls for consecration,
And it tells of friends and neighbours who disappear.
But the dark secrets will be heard and the truth will have its way,
And all the children of West Papua will smile once more,
But the cross they love to wear,
Is a cross hard to bear,
In a land controlled by a strangers crushing law.
