In a house where the dust
Swirls soft and low,
The heart of Africa
Beats with ancient glow.
Through narrow streets
Under broad palm leaves,
There's a rhythm to the dance
A dance that never deceives.

From these scanty homes
Warm and rich with tales,
Where the dust settles
And the wind sometimes wails,
A traveler here emerges,
Strong and and overly bold,
With dreams and stories
Stories yet to be told.

Her feet are swift
Her steps are light,
The dusty path can’t hold her
Despite its might.
Through cities and forests
Across deserts and plains
Her spirit constantly rising
Riding,not held by chains.

The road is long
The...