Crown of Thorns

 

Songs of false praises by day,

Scornful of change by night.

Hounding the new in their rotten covens of contempt,

Intrigues and booby trap to lay, to derail the new, 

if naive, 

for the rungs of decay to remain same.

To cheer in the dark that the new is not any better than the bad past, 

Yet, progress is made, slowly, steadily.

Shamless gorging of common patrimony by few,

Unbridled theft of what is left at every level, 

Court Jesters at the Rock Palace,

to plebians roaming the streets, 

everyone hooked on undeserved largesse. 

Unmerited favour they chorus in unison.

A culture that must stop for progress to be made.

Petrified that progress is being made, 

their type never to smell the throne again, 

Free food at Palace banquet over. 

Their recourse, 

discord sown among the rank and file, 

to destroy progress made, 

their game, 

to continue eating!

Dark skies, red rains, Heavens forbid.

Progress at the price of blood, a Nation to pay?

Pray!

Jagu Gbenusu