titilayo sunday (lagos)

The sordid prayer of a prey
Is to be in hide
When the unsatisfied
Comes to find
The soul of the aging mind
For the blood which is spilled
From the hands of his flesh
Have been reported to He
That is inevitable in still
Even if it's forgotten
It's recorded in the book of deeds
For whatsoever soweth
Shall be reaped
Even when the flesh is extinct.