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Sunday, 11 December 2011

The finance situation

So another cloud gathers, this time from the mainland 
And nobody is quite sure, in acts to follow, "what of the crops 
Why we should hold, worrying hands around camp fire 

It is from the dialect of currency used, and ours is different 
We chose to maintain that of our forefathers, and their father's fathers 
While still holding communal hands, with the neighbours "we only shared seeds

So why have us worry, and throw more coal on heart burns  
It is their debt, not ours, with bailiffs knock on their doors, not ours 
It is their troubles, not ours, "it is their land that becomes infertile

It is their backyards, that empty graves are dug
With nameless tombstones and chisel held by the inscriber
He stands ready, he has just taken on, two more helping hands 

And one more is stood waiting, either that or the dole 
There are no jobs these days, every job is one to want
So he prays for his service to be required, administrating   

The sea is with high-current walls 
It separates us, our land,  from their misfortunes  
So why have me worry 

No one talks, of the bankers these day 
No one says word, about them no more 
It is as if  t' dog house was only built, to serve their purpose 

And they have all been locked in for the winter 
This to silence their extravagant taste 
And the barks they wallow of in, in riches, in flash 

But now this time and again, their names crop up 
It is all to do with eggs in baskets 
Prudence and feasibility became, foreign words 

And  for that, the bankers vault seats empty 
They gave all away on high return, with risk unaccounted for 
To the countries, of frozen fields, who had but not much to pay back with 

Thus now, another cloud gathers, and the draught nears our lands 
This time from t' main land, not across t' pond like before
And we are to be caught in this storm, the winds hints, the oracle tells  

What do you know, I see mass empty graves appearing 
Manifesting in our backyards, each day a new one is added 
With warning signs they give, about the storm that cometh   

I pray it passes soon, or escapes as bulk 
Before our harvest days, with sacks ready to carry a load  
This seasons harvest can not, be left to rot in fields 

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  1. A horrible future awaits us if we're not careful. When did debt become respectable?

  2. Thanks for sharing this with I Saw Sunday Kodjo!

  3. Oh my, this is a depressingly accurate account of how precarious things are these days - so well done. You nailed it, Kodjo!!!!! It freaks me out, but you told it true!


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