Grant me a spacious square
To envision the beautification of the area boys
Who had solemnly salute the pang of living
The dog that wants to get lost
Deafens it ears to the sound of the hunter's whistle
But in spite of the incision of warnings that had been sketched on their fore heads right from birth
They grew up forgotten their cerebrum at the yard of ignorance
Their carpenter has lost the sense of his hammer
Nailing their sense in the circle of absurdity
They're the sons that street gave birth to
They're the beautiful children that ugliness had nurtured
Showcasing their talent early in the morning on the shameful stage of a way to grave
Under the bridge, the best home ever, with their clothes littering the base of the bridge
Paying homages to the god of dice and card games, using money, wristwatch most of which were stolen to stake
The future banker is now the one on the street
Snatching the bags of the innocent commuters
Our future Artist is there on the stage of misfortune, displaying his talent with ripped rag on him
The future newscaster is the one deafening the ears of the society with Oshodi!! Ketu!! Bariga!!
There he is, our future lawyer, visiting with his rod the dark room of the young ones
They are the beauty sons of the street
Nurtured under the tutelage of rotten span
More worrisome is the fact that future is shaking its head against them
And all hands must be ready to put them inside the grave they've dug for themselves.
©OSA
ABAMI_EDA
To envision the beautification of the area boys
Who had solemnly salute the pang of living
The dog that wants to get lost
Deafens it ears to the sound of the hunter's whistle
But in spite of the incision of warnings that had been sketched on their fore heads right from birth
They grew up forgotten their cerebrum at the yard of ignorance
Their carpenter has lost the sense of his hammer
Nailing their sense in the circle of absurdity
They're the sons that street gave birth to
They're the beautiful children that ugliness had nurtured
Showcasing their talent early in the morning on the shameful stage of a way to grave
Under the bridge, the best home ever, with their clothes littering the base of the bridge
Paying homages to the god of dice and card games, using money, wristwatch most of which were stolen to stake
The future banker is now the one on the street
Snatching the bags of the innocent commuters
Our future Artist is there on the stage of misfortune, displaying his talent with ripped rag on him
The future newscaster is the one deafening the ears of the society with Oshodi!! Ketu!! Bariga!!
There he is, our future lawyer, visiting with his rod the dark room of the young ones
They are the beauty sons of the street
Nurtured under the tutelage of rotten span
More worrisome is the fact that future is shaking its head against them
And all hands must be ready to put them inside the grave they've dug for themselves.
©OSA
ABAMI_EDA
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