Heavy thick lumps of blood on the streets of Kampala,
Loud noise and cries from all the corners
from old and young moppets,
Bullet sounds, and teargas fume pollutions,
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.