Saw it through the eyes of God. Watched it bleed in the fields of hate and economics.
Heard the music that was denied release. You must have dreamed a million beats.
Beaten. Crushed. They tortured you for pagan myth. Writhing on the rack you strangled your God given music.
Black protected you. Nurtured your seed in his cunning brutal silence. Created calypso for every anguished howl. You healed him and he fed you.
Enough is a tragic word. The sky falls before time kills the pain and sometimes the horror outwits time. You broke free four hundred years later. When lesser evil had eaten enough.
I heard an abolitionistic whisper that quickly exploded into bacchanalia. Out of his beautiful wounded spirit Black unleashed you upon an unsuspecting astonished necropolis. And nothing stayed the same again.
Black still feeds you. He awakens you on hungry soul days when the beat and rhythm needs a rekindle.