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28 BLOOD ’TWIXT GREEN & YELLOW When the waves wash off our coast Not far from the Chariot of God, our boast Spitting flames golden yellow Telling of forebears’ Sorrow In Victoria near Cape Limbo In our twisted tongue, Limbe We dream the flames will be out When the waves have come and gone We wake up to see nothing undone Not even the blood stain ’twixt green and yellow On the flag flapping as the waves goad us follow Not as our parents did with the République That burnt, killed & buried Federal Republic Where Paul as Jo before does pout. ...

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