Intro:
…from city my mind is intertwined with the grid system that I write these gritty lines…
What it is to be a Zimbabwean…
Check it!

Chorus:
Trolleys of mirrors to face
Sour little sweets for the brave to taste
Chill, listen and digest. (x4)

Verse 1:

The cracks in the tarmac are tracks for the hard facts
The roots of the old truth whose fruits are potholed
Ooh city confess the streets are depressed
The people who suppress their feelings at a stretch
Reverberate the aching muscles of your throat
Let the phlegm clear up of stories untold, but NO!
Abide by bible and hide for survival
Try not collide with the kind that’s political
Sit, sit, sit! Pretty dog in a ditch!
Let your ears be the tips of the raggedly paycheck
Bury your head under the pillow, enlist the bottle
And thwart the problem as your stomach rumbles
The human, the animal to whom do we appeal to?
Signal…

Bridge:
Trick or treat? Like a sickle for the sweet
Tickle pickled fantasies like a pretty little teat (x4)

Chorus:
Trolleys of mirrors to face
Sour little sweets for the brave to taste
Chill, listen and digest. (x4)

Verse 2:

They come from far so fascinated (Black man)
They sail for tales so animated!
You’re a fairy-tale dude, don’t care about you!
After the news, they had to have a real interview
It’s like you’re intangible, a world infallible
Got the scourge of the cannibal where money is involved
I’m against paying debt to the IMF
I protest, the White man indebted to US!
The fight in the wrong ring, I’m sighting a strong string
That’s woven in silently to provoke non-growing Africans
Outsiders who meddle in our affairs
To incite our conflict and how we cross-hairs
A rich humanitarian, philanthropic nonsense
Like a healthy agrarian with an empty pocket
Bridge& Chorus

Verse 3
Deal with our awkward social banter
And say we've moved forward in an equal manner
We've conceded to racist invisible barriers
In our dream oasis, we bite our tongue!
The Black and the White Zimbabwean complex
A nauseating skirting around the process
Make it alright just to talk about it
Maybe you’ll find the eggshells are already broken
No need to be chicken to the crack of a whip
The battle is this: Uh…Stereotypical mist
Religion is taking advantage of the desperate
Making rich men from all who invest in it
You don’t have to agree but something is off
In my role I can’t just gesture with a polite cough
I’m pushing trolleys of mirrors to sell to all
I might spawn a conversation seldom sold…

Chorus (x4)