under Njaaanuary’s spell
we dying out in this thirst filled hell,
Economic crisis on the verge of destruction corrupting our core foundation,
draining the essential tradition of this Nation.
none as brave,
we dying out here,
the top ones taking from a basket weaver,
the one sole bread winner,
out to hunger he dies out,
out to Denver they travel as down here we shrivel,
shriveling to the pains of your joys.
out went his lover.
gone like the wind,
flown away like spring’s leaves,
all that’s left is the pain and agony
the 5 o’clock symphony to sunrise,
it’s time to hustle,
draining himself to his last ounce of energy,
weaving his way out,
the weaver is all in and out
And in his last ray of hope,
through summer’s fever,
the weaver had it done,
Njaaanuary was gone love time was here,
he fell in love once more,
had himself work down to his core,
made his best,
weaved success now the weaver dines in leisure
as love was his lost treasure opening him up to the economic closure.
winter’s shiver left him a happy weaver,
a chop full,
hard working beaver.