We all live or we all die

It’s just that simple.

Reap cash off a man’s death and you will find your own seeping out from a thimble and going nowhere.

Cause money only trickles up but trauma flows both ways.

One of these days we all gotta pay for the track we lay.

Which way does it lead, lead by which companies. Which neighborhood does it ransack? Who’s son’s died on their knees?

From Tulsa to Rondo from Honolulu to York, we’re all just passing through on land that was never mine or yours.

It was the people we killed to stand here, who tended to the fields.

But I ask why do they must die so that we may buy our meals?

Why must we commit ourselves believing that that’s the only life that’s real.

For I met his son on the street the other day, he’s not dead he’s still breathing, and-and he’s got a heart! and he’s got arms! Just like you and me — you see he hugged me with them even!

For I watched him get killed just the other day. Just now! Not history as you say.

And I walked up to the man who shot him and I yelled until my voice was gone and he shot all he had into the air until my ears went numb.

And he told me I was the rioter, the person in front of valiant shield.

But I said that could not be sir, it was with you I ate those meals.

Only to find that this communion has run dry, there was no more pennies to buy food. Mine was now one of the bodies they could monetize.
The free hand of the market had decided to push me down and reprioritize.

Not me I said, not me.

Aren’t I the type of person you protect with your police?

Yes they said, indeed, but times have changed and we’re gonna need you on your knees.

“You’ve done the cardinal sin that is to practice what you preach, and for that you’re going to a wicked place where no god’s hands may reach.”

For the crime of knowing my brother I too was shot down in the streets.