Here we are again,
lost in the thin air.
Pieces of us – scattered across the FCT.
Another bomb blast.
They saw my head in Sokoto,
street kids balling around with it.
In Aso Rock, seats my headless body,
King among clowns.
It's not workers day,
it's Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Nigeria.
Yet, we can't tell the difference.