I'm a rebel, but not for your cause- a soldier, but not for your wars- I pause; in moments of silence that weep at the violence of minds incarcerated their ruin perpetuated by politicians peddling fear. My hue always gets screwed. How could your enemies be cursed if the strings of your purse reek of cotton ******* and their blood? Its the one drop rule that triggered the flood; now hate is screaming at your gates. You thought you could lock Karma behind penitentiary walls and in unmarked graves then preach Jesus saves. Its the boomerang effect; the trajectory is set in its path and there's nothing you can do- you brewed this cup of wrath. On the trail of tears, in the middle passage; even the sharks tryin-a give you this message, but you're struck deaf with the song of your might, trusting in the deliverance of aluminum kites and their droppings from the skies. But you will never again fly high, fly high- For your hour has been struck by the hands of the MOST HIGH; MOST HIGH; MOST HIGH.