What if this crude,
Black liquid gold
Cascading from the delta,
From the Bight of Biafra
Cease to cascade?
What if our homelands,
Still in ruins,
Continue to be in ruins?
Shall we then return
To till the farmlands,
To hunt games
And fish in the rivers?
Our farmlands lay polluted,
Games driven away by flare,
Fishes sent to hell
By crude missing way
From menancing pipelines.
What if, what if and what if?
Aaaaaaaaah,
They are gazing at me,
As if i lost my mind.
Have i lost my mind?
What if i have lost my mind?
Tufiakwa.