Monday, December 21, 2015
DEATH(a duet by Decent and Amarachi)
Does the dead really have ears to hear?
Do they have mouth to speak?
Do they have heart to feel?
Do they feel the pains we felt mourning, rolling on the dusty ground
crying our tears?
Do they have eyes to see?
I doubt, but I wish, wishing the distance of the dead and that of the
living is just few steps as Ikeja is to Oshodi,
one thing is sure, am going to see you again someday when darkness
shall assail my eyes,
hopefully up in heavens’ pray that am forgiven.
Surely you shall be forgiven, for forgiveness is of the man in white
seated above the countless hills.
In deep pains I wept, tears soaked my lashes, my eyes turned red as my
bleeding cause I still could hear the voice of your existence beating
a loud drum to my ears, piercing down to heart.
You never got the chance to behold how white I have become, thought
you were strong enough to escape the dark cloud of death.
It’s so hard to accept the fact you’re gone forever,
I never knew your existence can hurt so deep until you left,
I know you've reached a better place but I could give all to behold
your face the second time, the hardest thing to say is good bye!
I feel so empty, I feel so cold, I feel heavy, wishing I could turn
back the fast moving legs of time
Yes! The legs of time so I can hear your melodious voice that's brings
a second life to dead souls,
you left dumping a huge envelope of pains and sadness in my heart.
How come they call it good bye?
How come the good dies?
They are different words and am wondering which one did granny to?
As my baby sister has always ask;
Where do babies come from?
I told her they descend from the heavens’ and when their eyes are
closed in death, they return back to the heaven in ashes.
In dust man was made, in dust shall man return
I pleaded crawling with my kneels on the dusty ground of ashes
I pleaded, drowning in my own tears
I pleaded to them with burnt offerings,
I pleaded to our ancient fathers to spare you the pains of dining with
our ancestral ancestor’s hopefully for a second life,
and they whispered “Dead men don’t rise”
Yes! Dead men don’t rise,
so when I drive down the lonely lane of the other realm, If I crash
I hope you won’t celebrate when the ground shall digest my corpse
I hope you won’t mourn my dusted skin sharing souvenirs
I hope you won’t squander millions pleasing our so called customs and tradition
For dead men don’t rise.
Decent & Amarachi
Peace unto those who mourn their love ones
We pray their souls are reserved in the cold flames of heaven and not
hot flames of hell.
DecentMySaint and AmiGold
Sunday, Dec. 13, 2015