Chinwe

I've seen men bow at will For nothing but letters, tweed and twill I marched, travelled up that hill No more did my hands stay still You handed me your lies as your proof Could you ever oblige me one truth What one more thing could I have said Here I am wounded and you left me for dead She said not to give up so quick That my life is a candle and a wick Where hope springs, sirens no more rings Hand down my voice, not ever will I sing. You gave me word as your honor Faith dwindling, your smile so cunning Heart beating small and ever pining Spite your mothers, your mindless behavior Spite your fathers, conspicuous labour.