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Frazzled, beaten to pulp by the demands of your mission,
The nation binges on the violence of your tethered remains.
The Dream died, buried in the celebration of our tunnel vision;
Drunk on hatred, lost to reason, like addicts seeking for tired veins.
Yet, I hold a giant piece of you in the unpolluted corner of my memory,
Tearfully aging on the promise of a tomorrow that will never come,
As I charge on with these stiff bows and bent arrows in my armoury,
Knowing these battles I'll always lose, but my war songs I'll always hum.
Nigeria, the land of Great Divisions and Collective Promise!
The trigger of a continent shot to bits by eternal expectations!
Where is that coven with the curdled voices of your demise?
We will yet drown them in the ocean of their lamentations!
In the victory of the whole over the greedy and the vain,
In the spirit of the struggle that shapes Citizens from pain!
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