'We didn't build a house. We built a blade.'
Seven Loas.
Every one must fall.
Seven Loas.
Every one must fall.
Seven Loas.
Every one must fall.
The Vodun strongholds in Niri fallen.
Every Eze drinking like it was planned
But my attack on Rada Mysters,
deep inside Vodun,
vengeance for our brothers and sisters
forced their hand.
Ego Kwenu! Vodunese strongholds fall.
Fifty thousand voices booming through every hall.
But Ojukwu sit at the far end, quiet and alone —
They call him the rock. His body made of stone.
He is the Eri. I am not. Let every record show.
But the Eri stayed in Niri while I struck the first blow.
The Ezes celebrate... but they are here because of me,
It is because of me that Niri will be free.
The Rock says surround the Niri capital. Force the Vodunese to flee.
The Thunder says "blade to every neck. No surrender. No plea."
Misplaced mercy is a seed for tomorrow's grave.
Let our fury flow through our capital like a wave
The Rock says peace, the Thunder says more.
The Eri wants to settle, but Amadioha wants war.
The Thunder twisted law against the Eri's crown.
Let the Ezes vote. Let the Ezes decide
But Zara's secret whisper already convinced each one
Before the vote, the Thunder already won.
Six hands raised. Two hands down.
Ojukwu stood there denied.
I stood before the Ezes — put the question to the floor:
"Shall we let these murderers walk back to Vodun's door?
They stole the future from our children
you would send them home to breathe?
You would teach our sons and daughters
that murder ends with a handshake and reprieve?"
Ojukwu's chest turned solid stone.
His fists came crashing through the wood.
"Attack, attack, attack — that's all you know.
Amadioha Kamanu we will always reap what we sow.
You break the house we built. You burn down what we made.
I answered him: "We didn't build a house Eri. We built a blade."
The Rock says peace, the Thunder says more.
The Eri wants to settle, but Amadioha wants war.
The Thunder twisted law against the Eri's crown.
Let the Ezes vote. Let the Ezes decide
But Zara's secret whisper already convinced each one
Before the vote, the Thunder already won.
Six hands raised. Two hands down.
Ojukwu stood there denied.
He stormed out of the hall, a heavy silence in his wake,
The man who held the title while I carried every stake.
Damballa found me after, leaned against the post and said:
"You are a war hero, not a uniter — get that through your head."
But Ijele — my wife — lay beside me, incense curling through the air,
She whispered with a smile and eyes that pinned me to the prayer:
"Forget about the Eri. You can dream much bigger."
I asked her what is bigger than Niri — she said, "Vodun is the picture."
Her words became the seed, the restless, growing thing,
The voice that told the Thunder he was born to be a king.
I am the man who moved when every Eze held his breath,
The axe that struck Rada Mysters while the council whispered death
I am not the Eri. That title is not mine.
But the Eri chose to sit — and I chose the frontline.
So tell me, who is leader? The one who holds the name,
Or the one who holds the axe and walks into the flame?
Zara's secret whisper already convinced each one
Before the vote, the Thunder already won.
Six hands raised. Two hands down.
Ojukwu stood there denied.
Damballa says I am no uniter.
E don be so.
A nation at peace with colonizers is a nation waiting to fall again.
Seven Loas.
Every one must fall.
Seven Loas.
Every one must fall.