The Pilgrims Voice:

When you enter the lion’s den
He impedes your throat, captures your voice
Like a trance, a thief at night, he quietly steals your soul
He takes the eyes of life mother gave before your flight 
He cuts those ties that brings out the light at night
That chain of hope, the bead of faith that he snatches from you
Pilgrims from the motherland, all rushing down here
Don’t you see the devil sitting in his den?
He sits by the gate awaiting all who dare to come

Stolen connection:
I remember I had this spirit
I remember I had this feeling
Before it was taken away
Now piled amongst the rest
Those charts that continue to raise high
Traded for a number and a chip
Now I know why my brothers here stick to the zigs
Those sweet things that has their mind cool

Sibling rivalry:
Some of us, back there in the motherland
Say, think, that the buffalo soldiers here have forgotten their roots
Now I know, even after the winter slept with cold
In their throat, it remains, that thread that connects all
They still have, but why the sibling rivalry, you ask
The people without the season of winter
When we come here, we turn our backs on them
Turn our faces sideways, without reaching forth 
We claim the better brother, when in fact
The buffalo with its ancient hoofs has walked winter times
The buffalo with its coat thick as ran through the rivers
They our brothers, they our seasoned sisters
They the one’s that left mama's hut, leaving the dust
They our older brothers met winter, cold, their bones cried
But in their eyes, they hold a better understanding of the ways of the den
For how can I, who flew on planes come and claim the wiser in this den
In this the land, they all built
Silly, it will be, thoughts without process
It would be the same way, if our winter seasoned brothers
Came back home after so many seasons past
Claiming they knew the ways of Lagos better than we that live there
It will not make sense, it will only be jokes to our ears

WINTER IN THE DEN (II)
The Season of Healers:
Now I see the rift that needs fixing
We all, with different voices
Different lessons, all suffered
All grieved on different lands
But there is just one constant
The one thing that keeps us in the circle of hate
The one constant thing that saw we had earth in mind
So with jealousy it turned to machines, replicating trees
Some yellow, some blue, they come: false leaf, forced tongue
These false things they gave to their young ones
But come winter, their young ones wither
For the mix has mixed enough

Awoken Memory:
Now I know why my seasoned brothers drag leaves to keep cool
For that’s the only thing holding intact their remembrance
The one thing that ties their souls back to the motherland

No wonder seasoned brother’s inhale
Problems come into head, so they speak
Memories lingers, so they form words

Now I know
I see the devil's throne, sitting at entrance of the den
Waiting for the pilgrims who dare venture here for a better land
Without preparation, their minds are easily enslaved, twisted
So my brothers lacking winter seasoned days,
What do you think those bag of rice thrown down from planes are meant for?
What do you think those gifts we get are meant for?
Oh, you still refuse to see
Those things they throw down to you is for your entrapment
Your soul, your mind
Remember if you eat in a dream
You're bound by the one that gave you the meal
Same as life in famine
The destroyer comes when our eyes are weakened
When our minds accept reality for dreams
For we all rage with hunger
He sees his chance, and like a lion
He pounces and grabs throat
Watch as it goes, our minds in the devil's throat
Our souls all piled up in planes heading straight for the den

And now brethren, now I know
Now I know, so long it took
But now, I know
It's forever winter in the lion’s den