Children of the world, come

People of our land, come

Where are those with single lips?

Where are they?

Let us slot this world of ours

Into a time-truing frame

A steeledged timeboard

With a try-square of truth.

People of our land, come

Where are Truth's people?

Where are they now?

Where are they?

Where are those few sons of men

scorned as though they parade in

garbs dyed in dungpits?

The value mill of this world of ours

has never ceased from work-

NEPA has no power over it.

They keep pug millirig,

Extruding bizarre values

Pressed on man's crude iron die plates-

Dies etched all over in harsh experiences

Designed by the wicked chisels of men

And women...

Where are those with single lips?

Where are Truth's people?

Where are they?

Nsukka, 1996