When the people began to tow in,
Dragging their feets like reluctant waves,
Across a red – pink sea.
Then they began to offer butter for your stale bread,
Sugar for your sour tea,
And milk for your starched throat.
The birds didn’t chirp, nor tweet, they only sang,
Unlike them, a sombre song.
The memories carved in your soul, is washing away like cheap detergent.
Someone will come to your aid soon, and to a sombre song you will swoon.
And when the birds came again, with their chirps and tweets,
And the people with their treats,
You said ‘ Abeg play me that sombre song, my mourning is still long.’