Let the hot sun go.
Let the sweet breeze blow.
Let the big sea grow
As the rivers flow.
And the oboist blow
At dusk, his oboe.
That darkness should grow.
This day is once more sinking
And the night is tired of waiting.
The poor cower in grief.
The rich cackling in relief.
Night, no longer of blackness
But of thick darkness
In which courage is slaughtered
Again and again.
And fear has grown beards
In the hearts of men.
Let the hot sun go
Let the sweet breeze blow
Let the big sea grow
As the rivers flow.
And the oboist blow
At dusk, his oboe
That the night should show.
The cruelty of our green god
Shall be felt one morning at Ogoni.
He will hit you on the brow,
Whether you were guilty or not
Until you are hung on a noose.
t may be at dusk or dawn.
It may be the verdict of a kangaroo court.
But once it’s done,
There will be only tears to show.
Let the dark night go.
Let that old **** crow.
Let the morning flow.
Let the tide go low
As the rivers flow.
That a day should grow
With bright light to show.
A fateful new day
With dews fresh on the leaves.
No one smelt death
Until suddenly we heard him:
“Come out here!
You and your eight brothers
Whose days I have numbered.”
Hence their noose kissed the necks
Of the victims.
Victims of black gold.
And the world was spitting fire
And you groaned away in a deep sleep.
What a noisy way to sleep!
