Your curls have my fingers
So tight they won't let go

I could live here, hands on your head,
myself, your cargo.

Take me far away from here,
Around this great blueberry.

I'll ride high on your shoulders,
Or walk when you get wary.

At night, sleep, face up to the moon,
Your scalp set in my palms.

I'll tell you things about the stars,
my gentlemen in arms.

I cannot say a slithe in form
But a rapture to my ears
Once I categorized
all the songs
It brought me low to tears

But in the dark of
nocturnal dreams
I cried out in dispair
To hear the incessant
thrill of the mocking bird
made me pull my hair

Now the nights have been reclaimed
goodbye to the nights of all my pain
The mockingbird no longer thrills at 3 a.m.
It has met a tragic end

A thief walks in . . .
a robber runs out .

Where were you when the world turned black
Did you look away or stare right back?
When the rich man watched the paupers drown
Did you rage against, or defend his crown?
Will you sink or swim when the levee breaks,
Will you live in fear, or die in hate,
In the end when all is said and done
Which side of history will you be on?