Cape Town is a bitch

Her lure has drawn many to her bloody bath
Imagining a beach - they gun for her
Unknowing she has been there a million times before
Dreamers leave villages brimming with hope
Only to find fulfilment in her long bosom
At last, the mute pursuit comes to a nope
To stand face to face with one’s soul
But the price of freedom is the entire village

They return, a song whose tune is unknown
A quack in speech like geese
With traits of everything gone wrong
Camouflaged with an air of affluence
They come and go; sometimes never come back
Come and go; but the dreams are nowhere to be seen
All we have is a shadow of hope; for the bitch had her way

Only in her bosom - they breath
For far from her; at home they are strangers
Their soul yearn for her comforting cleavage
She is a bitch who has laid her bed with roses
They bowed; enchanted by her sweet aromas
Never anticipating the thorns that soon prick
Behold - no blood left; for the bitch has had her way