(Aching guitar pluck)
(Soft pad swell)
Yeah, yeah
Just a diary, my diary
Listen close now
My name is Cleopass, born twenty-second of April
Two-thousand and six, Ten Miles was the cradle
From the Mwale lineage, where the blood runs deep
Momma Miriam, Papa Martin, promises to keep
I’m the third born child, carrying the weight
But a shadow hangs over the hand of my fate
We lost our first born, buried deep down in Chongwe
That silent space in our heart, it’s still lingering today
Oh, this is my story, written in the dust of the road
Cleopass, the Mwale, feeling the heavy load
From the fields of Ten Miles to the struggles I see
Lord, show me the path where I’m meant to be
Started at Chaisa, chasing dreams in Grade Seven
Praying for a future that reaches up to heaven
Momma moved me to Lukwipa, hoping for the best
Through the Grade Nine furnace, passing every test
Finished senior secondary, I held on to the pen
But the results didn’t shine like I hoped back then
Now the money is thin, the tertiary doors are closed
And the path to my future is a road that’s unexposed
I see the horizon but I cannot reach the shore
Wondering if the struggle is all that’s in store
But I’m a Mwale, I’m a fighter, I’m the third born soul
Even in the silence, I’m trying to keep whole
Oh, this is my story, written in the dust of the road
Cleopass, the Mwale, feeling the heavy load
From the fields of Ten Miles to the struggles I see
Lord, show me the path where I’m meant to be
I’m still looking, momma
I’m still praying, daddy
Ten Miles, can you hear me?
(Fading log drum)
Just a diary... my diary.