samuel nze
Masks on the faces I
see
which come to dance
They step up, step up
The oil is on
canvas
Yet the painter is dead
On those rails I see blood
You wish to
see too?
Then step up, step up
Mama Gita, where is your gal
Today of
days
The dance of dances
When garlanded maidens
Step up, step up?
Does she shy away From men, eligible bachelors
Just in from the
tumbles
Proving themselves cats?
Remind her that her cronies
have long
since tied the knot
And buried placentas under
Those tall tall
trees.
Oh, there she is at last
Come on, hurry!
Step up, step up.
