He was only seventeen He wanted a prado jeep To contest with his peers From the other side of the street.
To the darkness bound He whimpered his greed That they may offer a path To strengthen his feed He stole a twin And brought entwined To his soul A journey of fate That will snare his faith In the loom of life The strangled cry of the twin The agonized torture of a mother The frightened haunting The headed grimace of innocence As silent accusations Silently tore his sleep to pieces The Baba's bloody hands Could not silence his sleep The twin cries of despair From murdered innocence And maternal agony By seconds brought him Back to the field of blood Where he had sold his soul To purchase a prado jeep Now at his guilty leisure To the stern looks of justice He revises his need To obtain without sweat The judge's cold verdict Like cold relief From the terror of his dreams From the tiny watching eyes He had buried four feet upright by the stream That which can only be earned By honest day's sweat As the hammer fell on his life And the black robed justice wrote A whispered longing escaped His parched cracked lips One more last request Bury me in a prado jeep! They buried him in a prado grave Six feet standing upright Next to the tiny staring eyes By the stream Of his warped dreams! Biola Olatunde