Insurrection

From the South I once hoped they’d write gold to our names,
From the North he once wished our black strength would prevail;
It’s not fleeting; it’s never a thing we pick apart,
It cannot be dissevered; it can turn bliss to blind.

It is dangerous, strong; there’re not limits in time,
We can’t breathe in relief, we can never crash cars,
But there’s hope in the air, the resistance has called,
We can feel it, it sails through a fog of white sparks.

And where’s my rebel crowd? I can’t hear false pretense,
I need them louder now, we stand out ‘cause we’re stained,
Insurgency was raw when our parents felt fresh,
We can’t let them push down, bend and break our pure nest.

And the rest of the dead is never restful sleep,
All the scars on our names and the blood on our streets;
We’ll not be pushed around, we’ll plant grounds with our feet,
I can feel it all now, this is called: “for our peace”.

Where’re they hiding alone when we need them to scream?
Were the kids blocking holes and adults underneath?
South can never touch ground though we’re chained to our knees
And the grave of our past gets our future a list.