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 our commune, 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