N'Golo Branches twined climbing where love is yet to be, we've played this game an eternity. He who sings before the berimbau, sings a story of my demise. Know that Mestre is wise. When he plays do you not see? We, maple of the same tree drip slowly into night's dreams. Remember the N'golo call Pray for the ancestor's aide I prepare a feast of power, for you to taste the wine of my soul to eat that bread that is dreaming. See, the Mestre is wise and sings clearly his intent. God nourishoes our roots, the devil shakes the branches, Angola calls us home. Still the Mestre sings and I must play. ~Ayende Youmans (ICAF-DC)~