The world looks different down here,
with my shoulders oppressed firmly against rock bottom.
Where the only way out is up,
and the word comunity is spelled without unity.
Like broken records history is doomed to repeat itself,
and the music sounds like the moans of dying boys.
It would be easy to lay soaking in my own blood,
content in ym defeat,
lulled to sleep by the rhythmic beating of hooves,
as the pale horse approaches me.
The unconquerable spirit that lives within,
the same spirit that birthed mankind,
fought wild beast and forged civilizations,
will not allow me to do that.
I will struggle to my feet,
or one thousand times more if need be.
I will climb,
I will fight,
I will proudly brandish my scars.
The world will once again be mine.
A Black Mans Promise