In the land of black gold,
Where fortunes are made and sold,
There reigns a dark lord,
The master of the rigs, so bold.
He wields a power that's feared,
A grip on the industry so clear,
Blood flows through his veins,
As he counts his money, without any refrain.
The lord of the rigs, he rules,
His commands the oil barons heed,
His wealth and influence unchallenged,
His foes crushed and forced to concede.
The land he claims as his own,
The rigs, the wells, all in his hold,
He takes what he wants, unashamed,
His power, his money, his throne.
But beneath the surface, a storm brews,
The people, the land, they cry out,
Against the greed, the destruction,
They shout, they protest, they doubt.
The lord of the rigs, he hears not,
His eyes set on the prize,
His legacy, his empire, his name,
His power, his money, his lies.
And so the blood continues to flow,
The land, the people, they suffer so,
The lord of the rigs, he reigns supreme,
The price of power, money, and a dark dream.
©Otieno Elvis Gikoi
THE ELO’S
©bold-geo
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