'Tribute to the White Bulls' by Trendance

Relieved of a promised despair,
Clinging to a pending future,
Half blind, nearly dried out but still alive,
Propelled in the exodus across the sandy ocean,
We stubbornly shuffle North,
Towards the oasis of fantasy and delusion,
Wrapped up in the bittersweet presence of our once French elders,
These holders of the now deprived sacred fire.
Ah, Fathers… Won’t you tell me again the story of your glorious time?
Won’t you narrate anew THE history of your long-faded pride…
Balthasar, Sundiata, Mansa Musa and the lost French empire?
But now rejoice, Brothers of Progress
For beyond these dunes and rivers,
Those streams and deserts
Far away from the fateful misery and tyranny of our villages
Lies in the offing Europe’s coveted fortress
And its lush Elysian fields.  

'Hopeless Optimism' by Trendance

Our smoke, debris and damage,

My spite, frailty and rage,

Between tremendous natural disasters and the tedious daily routine,

The misery-ridden overpopulated Stone madly spins faster²

And worryingly gravitates around its cracked self.

What is left in this plight? What is right in which is left?

Our warmth, security and measure,

My hope, reverie and pleasure,

I rouse from the excruciating non-reversible earthly mess

And ride the long-surfed benevolent ripple to smoothly land on spotless Cloud nine.