Biko Robert Wyatt

Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead

Well it's September seventy seven
Port Elizabeth weather fine
And it was business as usual
In police room 619

Oh Biko Biko Biko oh Biko Biko Biko
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead

Now when I try to sleep at night
I can only dream in red
You know the outside world seems black and white
With just one colour: dead

Oh Biko Biko Biko oh Biko Biko Biko
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead
Inamajo Inamajo man is dead man is dead

Now you can blow out a candle
But you can't blow out a fire oh no
Once the flame begins to catch
The wind will fan it higher