In the ground and stones
there have been a hundred cities
so why then, do we keep looking
for a home
Over in that place, they speak
of the crimes of the blood
oppression, enslavement,
violation,
da da da
those who win are
the ones who whine
in this parlor game we call
history
it is said that the suffering of
your people is locked
into our bones, the crushing
push of the slaver's chain
the terror of annihilation
but nobody talks of the
joy
of the Bacchanal or the
sacred orgy
of the victorious swell of the heart
standing over the mangled
bodies of our foes
the evening visit of perfumed
ladies seeking the sweat and
cock of the gladiator
Some there are who
keep talking about chains and
the whip
forgetting that you are also the
hand that wields it and locks it
