Black Sunday

News trickled in slowly, a hushed unsure whisper, a jarring ringing phone call and the newspaper headlines looked surreal, pictures horrifying- as we all thought of the fun filled memories not too long back at the feisty Kyadondo rugby field; shaking our heads unbelievingly, the horror of it all sunk in slowly- they were here then they weren’t.




There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain goes on and on.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Now my friends are dead and gone.

Here they talked of revolution.
Here it was they lit the flame.
Here they sang about `tomorrow'
And tomorrow never came.
Oh my friends, my friends forgive me

That I live and you are gone.
There's a grief that can't be spoken.
There's a pain goes on and on.

Phantom faces at the window.
Phantom shadows on the floor.
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more.


Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me
What your sacrifice was for
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will sing no more.

Les Mes