We Too Shall Soon be gods.

We Too Shall Soon Be gods.

Perch,
Perch here Ogolo,
Parrot bird of the Mangroves,
And whisper to our itching ears,
The gossips the gods have told of our future.

You whose Omnipotent eyes,
Sees when our Pawpaw is ripe,
And cackles in gossip, "kickolo, kickolo, your pawpaw don ripe"...
Have those eyes of yours not seen yet what awaits our daily toil?

Perch here Ogolo and see...
See how our aged have gone to the great beyond without proper sacrificial fetishes,
Our women now lie with men with pots in their bellies, preferring them over us,
Our children look us in the eye and call us smokes without fire...
Because our cowhides have become empty of cowries,
Our barns no longer know the shape of beautiful yams,
Even Atabala, Ogolo,
Atabala has grown wise and escapes our nets in the Angala...
Our kitchen, our kitchen, no longer smells of sweet smoked salt water Oporo.

Perch here and tell, Ogolo,
Tell us the plans of our thatch roofs,
When after our patriotic toils,
We return to rest our backs on the wooden beds beneath them,
Shall they keep us from rain and shine,
Or rain upon us and send us to meet our Ancestors before our time?
They say that was the fate of Akuroseokika, the good one...
These times are strange ones,
So tell us Ogolo,
What the gods have said of the fate of the good ones in these Badlands...

But if they have failed to speak,
Even to you Ogolo,
Then take this message to them,
Tell them,
Hunger is stealing our breath,
Tell them,
Our women are killing us with broken hearts for we have got nothing to give them,
No silver, no gold, no daily bread,
Tell them Ogolo,
That here, the bad ones get what the good ones deserve...
But that is not our wahala now,
For we too shall soon leave here...
Tell them Ogolo,
That we too shall soon be gods!
And perhaps what they couldn't tell in peace, they will tell in pieces!
Tell them Ogolo!!!