Rites preceding the feast day; dusk time
When dusts of the district finds home with feets. They're still here,
chanting and dancing.
Ecclesiastical robes. Kabiyesi. The poor. The drummers.
Our crevices shall be fixed. Why shouldn't we fete?
The women's baskets are full, men clinging their sacks to their chest - full of grains
But the barns are empty and the gourds are filled
Epic feast indeed, echoing into the fields
Tempting the gods and spirits to join
How many miles to the voting date, the feast day?
Gold dices, casted behind curtains
Dispersed by the king
Thumbprints bought, conscience sold. No gain to thee thy seller
Festival over, valiant men hypnotized
Their juju really worked. They Lion has roared happily. Ready to devour
With fearful tongues, salivary gland on strike
"I want my vote back" the chief priest murmured
The Lion roared "My dice and grains".