They
crossed the sea and heard us calling
in musical tongues where the words kept falling.
With rhythms older than the dawn of time,
these migrating forces collide.
With ancient voice on further beats,
bridging the gaps where they said we couldn't meet.
Blending the electronic tones of our African vocal chords,
see,
music has no color.
And though Africa is our mother,
we are all children of sound, dancing as one,
celebrating our daughters and sons in song,
Gobatina Seatula.
Music is our culture.
It's in the lullabies of our mothers and
the voices of our freedom-fighting fathers.
Gobatina Seatula.
It's in the footsteps of our ancestors and yours.
It's in their courage, traverse foreign shores.
Gobatina Seatula.
During good times and through hunger,
Seatula.
Through sunshine and rain,
regardless of the pain,
Seatula.
And you have heard us.
So let the future and the past collide.
Let the music reconcile all the stories we've been told.
Where we conjure new and old.
On the journey beyond white and black.
The journey where we look back and take
where we have been to where we are going.
With hands holding these connect the beans in sound.