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letra de shadowgrams - moor mother

i used to live here, this used to be my home
before the queen beyond language
before english, before columbus
before you found your way out the salt caves in starvation

i saw a jigaboo in lisbon, i saw a jigaboo in lisbon yesterday stumbling through the streets as if no one ever left africa
in holland they blacken up for christmas just so the lord knows they still in africa
in london they blacken up to remind the world they still in africa and they ain’t never left
and they ain’t never gonna leave
they over there in south africa right now talking about nationality
talking about we was here first
shakin’ hands with the chinese talking about an economic boom

the only reason flowers grow here is my mother’s sweat and tears
and according to you she was never here
but according to you we were never here
never here, never here, south london
chokehold of reason [?] and they don’t believe you
you were never here and you’re still not here and any memory of you is under construction

north philly is not north at all it’s below, lower than h-ll
they drowned you inside your homes
let the building crumble over you just enough that you keep breathing in the mold
the contamination, drinking groundwater full of lead and they don’t tell you
they don’t tell you that you been drinking it all your life
sleepin’ on a bed of bedbugs, infestation
never leaving
you were never leaving
you were never leaving
you were never leaving
the cycle of what is, what has been and what continues
ten million for the queen
ten million [bodies?] for the president [ten?] million gallons of blood for [the oilman?]
more land for the pipeline
more bodies for slavery
more, more, more, more bombs for peace
more corpses for the coalitions, prisons for the hospitals [?]
children for the war
they hope their children will remember the power of war
in return the violence you asked for, begging for destruction the way you taught them
searching playgrounds for warheads
[?]
appear in the form of a drone, a toy
a k!lling machine, a fire in the sky, and it wasn’t you
it wasn’t you, it was the rise of the machines
it wasn’t you, it was the death of humanity

a humanity that only cares
when the internet only cares
[bloodbent?] on virtual reality
the last and only place that fits
and popstars, the drama crumbles from the sky
dropping crumbs from skyscr-per buildings and you eat it up cause you got nothing

and it’s not the queen
it’s not the queen, that ten million is so we stay awake so she can sleep at night
it’s not the president who always vote, for the demise of life, liberty and justice
and they schools taught us we don’t exist
but he said yes we can
keep you distracted, keep you dumb, keep you dead
keep you isolated, keep you away
keep you bombed, and no one will notice
cause they control the music
and they k!lled art
and i don’t know what you think you makin’ but it ain’t art
they hacked art they hacked creativity
and who are these so called artists
these liars dressed in the flesh of our past will offer no solution
just sounds, just chaos, sonic imprisonment
but still we will fight for our distractions

don’t let the club close
keep the tv on, swipe left, keep strolling
no religion of truth, but religion of boredom
and you boutta buy, you better buy, you better buy, you better buy, you better buy
you better consume, you better consume, you better buy
you better buy yourself back for cheap

they don’t believe you
they don’t believe your mother
they don’t believe her that she been raped around the world throughout existence of war and imperialism
and no one and no one and no one and no one
no one, no one, no one
no one gives a sh-t
no one gives a sh-t
and the end is happening and it keeps happening
and you keep checking the clock as if time ever protected you
you keep checking the clock, does it say doomsday, does it say father for i have sinned
does it say where they lynched eve or where they buried harriet
they have k!lled our heroes and we forget their names and call out into the void
i have no nationality, i was never born
and when you think about it, when you think about it, when you think about it
the nice white people in the mansion up on the hill, they own the sky
you know your daddy and them
daddy can we, can we watch them die on easter
daddy can i cut the ribbon, daddy can i go to the demolition
you know it
ain’t no home after the rich
ain’t no home after the rich

- moor mother

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