Before the bronze was cast, ever since the stone age
Before the great empires rose from the history’s wake
A unique ethnic-group arose amidst the oceanic spray
An island pocket holding fast the dawn of human day.
No seed is sown in grooved clay, no cattle ever turn soil
People gather what the wild grants without manual toil
They listen to the voice of the leaves, the shifting of tide
Where mysteries of millennia in knotty mangroves hide.
They move around the shallow reefs in dugout canoes
To prey on silverfish darting across ever-changing blues
With practiced hands they draw the bow in a steady line
In a perfect harmony that makes all the woodland shine.
They forge no metal in the flame, write no decree or code
Yet wisdom fills the tracks where ancient blood has flowed
A fierce and basic instinct lives as sovereign hearts abide
To keep the world a world away, and let the island hide.
They represent man’s early rise, untamed and beautiful
Abiding the law of wind and wave, unmapped and dutiful
The timeless line of human grace upon a pristine shore
Guarding the childhood of humanity, now and forevermore.
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