(which should actually be Indigenous Peoples’ day)
The barren wastes, bearing down on me.1 Cracks in the clouds leave me wondering: Did the oceans dry out and return to the sky, for a privileged perspective of our final goodbye?
Pretend it’s a house of peace while she’s buried underneath. You built your Father’s house over my mother’s grave.2
Bodies - a mass grave collapse the concave floor. These sanctimonious steeples will meet us in the dirt. Because the earth is trembling,3 if only we had eyes to see it shake. Ignorant until we expire.
When the ocean fills our veins and the soil becomes my bones:4 Maybe we’ll fall asleep tonight to the madness in the melody poured out for slaves.
We were dressed in potential now we’re draped in sorrow.
Our race is a bloodstain spattered on a profane political campaign - manifest your destiny. Stripes and stars comprise my prison bars - the cost of liberty.5
Maybe we’ll fall asleep tonight to the madness in the melody poured out for slaves. Maybe this storm is a perfect score for wretched bodies washed ashore, poured out for me.6
The life I loved looking up at me: saplings struck like daggers hemorrhaging streams as the breath of my people return to the ground7 so forests can once more abound.
The suffering cross that overcame,8 the name of Love made concurrent with shame.
This melody - I thought it familiar it sounds like your heartbeat keeping time,9 then you turn and remind me that this pain has a purpose. And maybe we’ll fall asleep tonight.
Brought to you by the same band I’m covering in #Northern Fires