On solid rock it stands,
For did not the pastors book say,
That the wise did build on locks,
And overlooking the vast ocean it stares,
The test of many seasons its stood,
A fantastic view to behold of course,
Yet within these walls, inaudible voices,
Voices of sickness, sadness, and sorrow,
That told of the Gloomy past,
Of the poor African Slave.
With gallant halls of ancient beauty,
The Wisemans heavens beamed,
With rays from the ancient light,
But in the hells down below,
Were humans stuffed of ebony make,
And even the sun gets furious
For want of outlets to peep.
Warming the pews, praising God,
Thanking him, uplifting the Lord,
Bible in hand, and dagger behind,
On souls below, damnation shined,
Forgive me Father if I often wonder,
Were you there, when it went under?
How long shall we be in bondage?
When shall our shackles be broken?
For their cities blossom like roses,
With stolen manure from our dung,
For though the castle is now without them,
Ropes only replace our shackles
So our freedom is short of total
Visit to Cape Coast Castle 1984
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