Eh! The mouldy walls that bore our fences have stripped us naked.
Those with swollen chest that usually defend us are no more;and the children of 'Agbete' that dare not look us in the face have come out as men.
Who'll wear the battle shoes of our fathers and take the horse by the bridle.
Who'll continue the good fight when Mandela pass through a riddle.
The rod,that 'Menosa' shepherd us with,is lying idle.
Heroes are not born in our days!
Who's it that's to go to the great beyond?
When you get there,tell our heroes past to be patient with us.
Tell them that their footprint is washing away;their handwriting fading so quickly.
That no youngman wants to pay the price for anything.
Don't forget to tell the great mothers that the household of mothers is now the household of murders;
No easy passage for the heroes unborn.
Heroes are not born in our days!
And should you be given a green ticket,ensure you pay homage to the great inventors.
Tell them that the path they paved for invention is long lost;
No one with the cold feet to trend it.
Even the self-governance,for which they ran out their blood,is now an instrument for self-fulfilment.
The sons of 'Semawo' that couldn't climb even the middle of the tall 'ugwo' tree,while others at the top,now walk the streets with the staff of honour.
No prophet to tell what tomorrow would bear;
Because heroes are not born in our days!
