When is the right time to get over it?
Every black person in America carries survivor’s remorse on their shoulders
We have to be martyrs for our humanity and that’s an oxymoron
They don’t hear the trees in the forest giving them life and they don’t hear when we fall
They don’t hear us at all
but we are perseverers,
continuers,
emerges from ash and rubble,
builders of shuttles,
real subtle combat soldiers
We need not our life saved
We are type brave
and after all it is a light day

And I’d like to believe that we’re still dreaming
Still loving
Still scheming for dough
The workingman is still the toughest I know
The tender moments that our women tend to decorate time with - that’s what I want to decorate lines with
Explore the hereinafter on a raft in the aftermath with laughter
My soul resists capture in event of all disaster
Eventually, even escaping me
The race to no end
So far, crying has been what’s sent me in my body again
But dig it, I’m still dreaming

Atatiana Jefferson loved to chill with her loved ones
Her nephew liked to play video games
So, from time to time, she did too
Botham Jean would go to work and then relax in his living room
Sandra Bland minded her business
cigarettes calmed her down
but we’re the dangerous ones
That’s why they invade us
‘cause they’re afraid of the neighborhoods they built as free-range cages for us
Irony: you evaded the bulk of the war that you created within our part of town
By the time that you face us, we already know that not every score gets settled
Not every settlement pays
Not every drug gets peddled
Not every government aides
It’s safe to say we know the effect on us
We know there’s no effect on you
I hope you’re well
I’d like to do a wellness check on you
Second thought: healing is not
about letting things slide or persecutors get off Scott free
It’s about seeing enough loss in your life to know that you want peace,
forgiving yourself when you don’t believe you’re the one who can achieve it,
walking away with a greater capacity for happiness, letting go of the past, perceiving the future, and then attempting to put a dent in to all the great getting after of it on a path that we invent.
Being sad in the end.

You see, I’d like to believe that we’re still dreaming
Still loving
Still scheming for dough
The workingman is still the toughest I know
The tender moments that our women tend to decorate time with - that’s what I want to decorate lines with
Explore the hereinafter on a raft in the aftermath with laughter
My soul resists capture in event of all disaster
Eventually, even escaping me
The race to no end
So far, crying has been what’s sent me in my body again
But dig it, I’m still dreaming