This city is lost
Burried in ancient pillars of wine and lust
Feuding on blood and utter disgust
Their pride is in being lost
This ancient city has Burried many kings
Youths lost in their revolt for drinks
Selling nothing but death to the weak
Choking whomsoever wants a new rethink
This city has lost its value
Bathing in past glories, lost in its avenue
Youths perishing on faltering retinue
It's grandeur is suffering rot! Must this continue?
What epitaph of rotteness is this???
Rotten beings eponymous to a deity
As melee in anxiety
This is no mellifluous meld of praise!...pity!
Is there a legacy left?
Or a dance with meerschaum of advance theft?
If nothing stops this trend of maudlin deft
Where none appreciates nor complain this drift
Calabar with its alluring landscape
with blood feuding on the sands about to escape
into oblivion, for none to arrest the scape
To warn the young and elders to escape
This city has lost its ideals
Fleecing their children and feeding them peril
Fathers dancing in absent degree
Offering nothing but violence...that's the disease
How lofty are the ideals of this land
Sinking the youths in bands
Old men progressing and dancing as planned
While decay catches up the youths of the land
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