We can account for the scars in our sides
Yet we are not privy to the thoughts that we discard
Those who would break us, nurture our despair
But still we cherish those who we revile

We take this battle in our fortitude
The war of will yet to be resolved

We broke the font from which we sup
Bit hard upon the nape of our chaste and drew blood

Take refuge in [bad word]  orphans, staccato souls
Scrawled identities, captives of our consecration

Is this our dowry, the sorrow of our loss?
Do we inflict our young with the horrors of our past?
We use these imperfections as markers, vestige points
We have so much to gain, so little left to loose

Lay bare this soil, a marred ambit, borders bound by slick hraka
Towers of salt carve out tracks, cleaved in two by careless hands
The word is rife, the harbinger, it clings to us this Efrafa
Homba, Lendri and Yonil, it rises like vomit within us all

The weakening words spread out in arcs
The urge to flee, cowardice engulfs
Our hands are raised in unison
Brandished tools, branded skin

Cut away, like so much meat
We forged new scars against ill repute
We hold on tight to one another
I am legion for we are many