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OF THE SONGS FOR THE DEAD.
War is done. Flies about the rot.
Now for the dead wakes a song.
Mother Sun shuts her eye as tears from
heaven blame the treacherous soil.
One is The Soil and War and Love,
And over all, Man is god.
And when his pride picks a gun,
Home is home for the lucky and the lost.
Olaoluwa.O.O
Now for the dead wakes a song.
Mother Sun shuts her eye as tears from
heaven blame the treacherous soil.
One is The Soil and War and Love,
And over all, Man is god.
And when his pride picks a gun,
Home is home for the lucky and the lost.
Olaoluwa.O.O
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