(Sullivan) 2021
I was raised on your streets in the time of the rage
To furious beats we bounced off the walls
There was a kind of a home in the beaten up cars
As the icons fell in the blast of it all
Then came ambition,
I thought if I made it in your world I would be free
But my face on television is somebody else’s
The prompted words are not me
It’s not over, never over
I see ghost silhouettes of the slave-ships still sailing the seas
And the servants of white men still drawing lines in the sand
They have priests who will give them the words to declare themselves kings
But we have a language of our own
We have a god of our own
In the land of my mother, in the hot wet summer
The sweat never dries, the rains keep coming
I’ll head north and east and into the mountains
There’s bright coloured busses and trucks gun-running
One time they tried to put a gun in my hand but I said that I never would use it
The looked at me like they could not understand
That I’d die for a cause but not kill for it
It’s not over, never over
I see ghost silhouettes of the slave-ships still sailing the seas
And the servants of white men still drawing lines in the sand
They have priests who will give them the words to declare themselves kings
But we have a language of our own
We have a god of our own
Published by PRS/MCPS
