The night was quiet except the sound of the night owl
Sniffles in the main room of the manyatta
Where the chief of the masai lay
Covered in the familiar cloth clad by warriors
Of this hermite tribe

Tomorrow morning he will be laid to rest
His body covered with cuttings from trees
With a skin of a cow freshly killed
The wild animals will smell it from miles away
Soon to shred the body and gorge themselves
You see, there are no graves to bury the dead

Ah! The memories of growing up as we moved
From place to place, seeking fresh pastures for our herd
And new experiences for everyone