i-Neck and the Head
Your credentials, in absential
They are no more essential to contest presidential
My dear President, it is we the residents of your deadly den, whose fleshes feed thy greed of power, as we fall by the day.
I do prostrate as I protest, while I write to right the wrongs. If you care to read.
Our dizzy and purging land cannot be healed with guns in war or the capsules of bullets piercing through my flesh
Our youths do not enjoy the tears as the smile with crocodiles. They do not enjoy the dance with cobras and pythons. That you loose to loot our joy in the name of CHANGE.
I do protest!!
But i prostrate
Spare the spades that digs our graves a season of rest.
We celebrate without a bread
And wine our waiste without a wine, dancing praise to graves.
You take our heroes by the hands and hand them down to face thier fate when they don't deserve.
Safe the spade to rest from work in the semetary that the dust has rejected the corpse
Praise94 master of ink.
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