The Rythm.
Poor desolate Niger-Delta.
Patriach of pipeline explosions
and oil-spillages.
From tale to a tale
your days shorten,
and your dreams lay asleep
in the cold of shallow graves.
Though i think of you
as destiny`s child,
you neither come nor go away.
In all my grief,
you are the chief;
as one who gives
all passion away.
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