It stands desolate, pale as a morgue
On the verge of collapse, on the edge of a tumble
Inimical eyes from every angle bore holes
They drill crevices, for them to peep and judge
The dynasty born out of insensate constitutionality
A warrior don in borrowed armor.

The wind, the storms, the rain
They come in tandem, to test the pain
To feel if it can endure any more
Like it did when it could speak to the wind
Now the wind listens no more
For the walls of stone have shaken.

It still stands, demeaned and dejected
Trying and dying to make a point
That it’s stone is genuine, will stand the test
That it’s soul is from the earth
Dug out by the son of the soil
It is still the great house of stone.

They lie still in the valley below
Those forsaken children of the soil
Whose tears, bloodied tears of sorrow
Sink with no trace into the crowded ground
Souls sowed never to be harvested
This house shakes, it’s the house of stone.

This is the house that blood built
My heritage, my pride and my soul
The house that raised this voice, humble and soft
This voice that refuses to be stunted
For it will echo through those stone walls
This voice, not to be confined in the house of stone.

The little stone house, my black diamond
Between whose walls freedom was built
Consciousness revived, history reconstructed
This is the house that Bob built
A hope for the next generation
That house of stone, a shining beacon of hope.

The wind has blown, whirlwinds gone
Storms, thunder and lightning relentless
The little house stands in the turmoil
It still stands, it is made of stone
My house of love, stone love
May it live long...................?