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The sun shall rise again but
not in our season of songs this time, 
because we are strange to it glamouring light. 
We sparkle and shine not among its  Galaxy of hope, 
an unformidable corrupt youths are we... 
we've  abandoned the oja  for a modernised recorder, 
our feastful brain rest in the betting centres
riding in foolishness with foolish camels. 
We've  abandoned tradition to ijebu field, 
Our mistful hearts amidst shrouded embraces, 
shutting down tinted believe of our future! 
We've  forgotten the clamouring route of greatness
and seek for yahoo means of breaking the air. 
Now,  we look for golden rotten pastures to carpet our steps,
telegram my messages to the youths of Nigeria, 
email my tears to the youths of Africa in Europe, 
send my cries to the youths of The soil all over, 
tell them we have failed the sands and the oceans. 
They've  made the sky bleed blood again and again, 
we have no more Odumegwu In our clan any more, 
we have no more Okonkwo Achebe  to blow the oja. 
We have youths of Betnaija and Nairabet in our land, 
strange to themselves,  strange to their dreams.
Grandpa didn't sing this song like we sing today, 
grandma was powerful like Amino.
the barn is getting empty with blink of an eyes, 
beat the gong to the hearts of our ladies, 
let them know facebook does not sound like kitchen!
The boys must know that instagram is not a home
for marriage- Nadia is fake, artificial life lives there. 
Civilization have strangled us from the sane paths, 
blind,  sorrowful, lost are we to the core! 
The sun shall rise again and again and again, 
from Lagos to Karina, From Abuja to Abia,
Imo, calabar, Onitsha  and Benue and Kogi.
But not in this seasonal transgression of our deeds, 
to build houses the hands of generation of strange youths. 

©John Chizoba Vincent 
          Cam'god
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