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(Ile-ife)

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Our Plight

In the heart of the hinterland
Descended wickedness with a heavy hand Blood painted the streets red
Blown into pieces is the head

Men lift up holy hands in praise
With praises they fill their days
For they live to hear the boom of the bomb
And tell the stories not, to the walls of their tomb

No matching in the park
No sounds of war in the dark
No warning note tendered
All you hear is the evil being rendered
With the boom comes the screams
A car, a house, a man, the burning beams

From the beam we run helter-skelter
Away from our abode we seek shelter
Our castle is surprised and plundered
Our kinsmen savagely murdered

“Wish we could brew us a medicine of revenge
To destroy deadly raccoon that ravages human soul”

Our country bleeds to death
To death is our future hacked
Survival now a dearth
For evil men are now backed
With weapons that destroy life in mass
And good men now flee about
While death flow in the air as gas
And the country now in a bout

Our country now sink beneath the yoke
The country on our behalf weeps and bleeds
While we sleep and don’t care

As long as we don’t care
About what happens in the hinterland
I plead we seek a desolate place
And there weep our bosoms empty
For our future now lie in peril

Submitted: Saturday, June 29, 2013
Edited: Thursday, July 25, 2013


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