And let me have all the freedom I need
Let me write my scarred frustrations
on this paper and make the pen bleed
Time wounds all heels and sowing this literary crop unreaps the mighty seed

I hung on to similes and metaphors like they were dear life
My bosom vibrates to the feel of pad in hand as I prepare to fracture the lead
I resurrect art out the closed doors of dribbling sadistic writers

I craft my ability on my weary body like a tatoo artist
My eyes have been vexed by a violent history of unfruitful youth
Washed my hands in a basin of history wrought by a dying people
A descendant of the gods that were turned into slaves and brainwashed by a culture of a cursed civilisation
A master architect and brother to the sphinx that I worshiped
Till all went sour grapes and we were all shipped to a foreign land
Of men who forced us to submission with whips that broke the bone and tore the flesh
Let me write all the things that I know about brother Jesus
Let me tell you the truth about how your governments create these diseases
To control the population of a deceived people
We are the free minority with the only power to cast away evil
We are not living in equality
And we confess a freedom that we don't really possess
The masters of the slave trade can curse a clean hand that's ready to bless
When the pen is in our bound hands,
these chains can break,
and we can unlearn ourselves of the ills that are still done to our people.
Selah.