Eleven Fingers Ingrate

Eleven Fingers Ingrate. – ‘Lacray

Nwanyioma, how my heart races

Upon being informed by your perfume

And then it stops like a clock

Disarmed of its battery

when you touched my shoulder

 

All these little things that you do and I’m moved

When o! When shall you approve?

 

Maybe when the rivers don’t run no more

Or my foot is wholly sore

From visiting in ungodly times

Because I see only with feelings for you.

 

When a seed is sown

Growth is inevitably the way to go

But not even a sprout to die

Even though I begged for a sign

All I got was one to sigh

To whine and smile like a child

 

Oma, delight of many eyes

Your brown eyes flashes bright

So bright it sees through my soul

Burning with flames leaking through my nose

“Burn fur all I care!” What a nightmare

Well, it’s eleven in the afternoon

Eleventh myrrh received with her eleven fingers

 

“Roses would grow in our blood

But only if we water it from gold jars”

The nightmare begins to continue

Only if I’d sleep a little more.

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