There was hope once.

Beautiful, everlasting hope.

Burning bright with its warmth and love and passion.

Finally one had come to relieve us of our labor.

One who could free us, make us an independent nation.

God, such hope I have never seen!

Lifting us up and pouring into us the wonders of freedom, glorious hope.

But like all things, hope twisted.

Power!

Cannibal power feeding on his brother hope!

And three-hundred-thousand souls cry out...

The last King of Scotland has no hope.