At the tail of their tall tales
Talking of the lives they never lived
First in gleaming eyes their lucky escapades
And in big sighs their ill-fated fates
Then they talk of the future
Then they talk of their dreams
And they begin pushing virtues down our throats
Spending all their lives on our necks warning
Complaining in gloomy faces like they’re mourning
Forgetting when they were stretching and yawning
Watching idly through the shutter lines
As darkness gradually falls on the risen sun
They’ve always had the good voice to tell the soreness
But never the pride to venerate this land sullied
This ordinary soil they’ve always found their homes
From the black clays of Akuse
To the hot sands of Walewale
Never had the minds sober
Never slept off all the liquor from their eyes
Till they woke up in empty stomachs
To find only spiders on their pounded yam
Whiles their pens and coops were left broken
Spiced up on the plates of the termites
Now they’ve remembered the sons restless
The virgin hearts they tagged reckless
Now you see them humbled
Crawling every where on their bended knees
Searching under the baskets they abandoned
Where they left the brooding fowls to die
Now maybe they will have the ear to hear
This is not a mocking note
Not a revolt call
Just a naked truth from another crazy son
If we should miss the sight of your bloody stains
Where you’ve always sat licking your bleeding wounds
If you should find us resting
Where you slept and never woke up again
Just drink some water and force yourselves to sleep
Only your shadows and reflections catching up with you
You made us nothing new
But we shall find something new to tell our sons
Because you said it all
But you said nothing at all
Ink On The Heart 