Let this silence not be mistake for cowardice
For we are brave, warlike
And even potentially brutal
But we are biding our time
In the face of this provocation
Fastening our over-flowing angst
With the anchor of patience.
We cry, but their Ossified ears
Mistake our cry for laughter
We sulk to suppress the tempting promptings
Of a bellicose intinct.
Our house is on fire,
Ignited by infant-kings
On a rudderless infantile mission
But we true alomg-dismembered,
Dispossessed and disfigured
In a caricature existence
Waiting for the opportune moment
When the sword of Damocles is fully honed
To turn this infernal fire
Into a fire of revolution
That will spare not the villain.
Scripted By: Martin Akpan