the last slave ship
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We never surrendered,
the last of the slave ships,
I saw which flag flew atop its mast,
I saw the shape of my mouth as I heard myself echo back,
"it was the past,"
excusing myself from burdens,
pretending I could ignore the benefits
that befall me as I speak watching the flag flap in the tailwind,
excusing myself from my rightful place to sit at the right-hand side of the weak,
but not in power or gluttony,
blame me oh Lord,
cause God-damn I hate my race,
it gives me something in common with the bigots who place "heretic" in front of my name,
when addressing me anonymously,
as if I'm not in the room,
for the life I intend to live,
in perfect harmony with their beating hearts,
one beat per gallon,
of blood pumping through machines in urban country-sides,
without pleasant names,
to mask the stench of indifference and unquestioned idiocy,
they call it "faith" in what they "believe,"
well I know,
God's not white,
or a man,
and he certainly isn't you or I,
so Galileo wasn't showing us who was reaching out,
now interpreted as the 11th commandment ordering us to point out wrongdoing,
but why the finger pointing,
why the condemning,
why the,
why........,
why can't I ask a question,
without being returned a sentence with vocal tone raised at its conclusion,
oh masta,
please let me off this ship,
with my heart drenched in sweat,
to praise the Lord,
for your guidance,
I was without a country and purpose,
until I met the whip,
who doesn't know me,
but knows my name,
just like the Lord who shall call upon me when it's my time,
to board the ship,
and raise my flag high upon its mast,
and sink down,
all the way to the bottom,
To the Promised Land.
the last of the slave ships,
I saw which flag flew atop its mast,
I saw the shape of my mouth as I heard myself echo back,
"it was the past,"
excusing myself from burdens,
pretending I could ignore the benefits
that befall me as I speak watching the flag flap in the tailwind,
excusing myself from my rightful place to sit at the right-hand side of the weak,
but not in power or gluttony,
blame me oh Lord,
cause God-damn I hate my race,
it gives me something in common with the bigots who place "heretic" in front of my name,
when addressing me anonymously,
as if I'm not in the room,
for the life I intend to live,
in perfect harmony with their beating hearts,
one beat per gallon,
of blood pumping through machines in urban country-sides,
without pleasant names,
to mask the stench of indifference and unquestioned idiocy,
they call it "faith" in what they "believe,"
well I know,
God's not white,
or a man,
and he certainly isn't you or I,
so Galileo wasn't showing us who was reaching out,
now interpreted as the 11th commandment ordering us to point out wrongdoing,
but why the finger pointing,
why the condemning,
why the,
why........,
why can't I ask a question,
without being returned a sentence with vocal tone raised at its conclusion,
oh masta,
please let me off this ship,
with my heart drenched in sweat,
to praise the Lord,
for your guidance,
I was without a country and purpose,
until I met the whip,
who doesn't know me,
but knows my name,
just like the Lord who shall call upon me when it's my time,
to board the ship,
and raise my flag high upon its mast,
and sink down,
all the way to the bottom,
To the Promised Land.
