Mellifluous words glued to their mouths
Are always their weapons,
Whenever the sun calls for election.
Their clapping tongues like morning bird sing
Of a hope never had been seen.
They sung the magic of American wonders,
They sung the secrets behind Europe's civilization,
They sung what sky-rocketed China's economy to no end,
They finally sung the old song of elevating our science schools
To a height never had the sun attained.
Even when our economy tells another tale,
Their hope-raining tongues never cease to rain.
Nazi men in cassock of democracy.
Whenever the sun calls for change,
'The change we need' becomes their new nicknames.
On posters, they mimic the posture of saints
Our once dead hope is to be awakened with fire.
We shall be marshaled again on the Election Day,
Like Fulani cows heading for slaughter.
We are to support another abstract theory of the Judases
When the trumpet wail.
But, when shall this pile of promises come to pass?
Fulani is a nomadic tribe in West Africa that specialized on cattle rearing