[b]Brain dead.

On the chop board of history we glory lay
Expecting to be grilled with rage once again
With the demented bouquet of our collective idiocy
A sweet meal to the hills of the gods we sober serve
Their tables we set in relished ache
Even though their crumbs are out of bounds,
Our backs they make a pleasurable sofa

We sit and watch this uproarious pun
A scene where the characters eat our fats
Of our choosiest wine they gulp with impunity
Oh! what a strident applause we give!
The second third and forth scene wasn’t different
All they do is dance, wine and dine
Even though we see some occasional scuffles
In the evening we watch them eat some waffles

Now the party has started
I mean under the cloud that rain cowries
Singing the song of victory without a sword sharpened!
Like swarm the investors move under the rain
Hoping to harvest some earnings
All my countrymen could do is take some notes
Wonder if one day they’ll take a test
Under the tree because the school is eroded
A nation flooded with chronic amnesia

Omo-Ekun ‘10[/b][color=#000099][/color][i][/i]

Critics where Art Thou