Ask an African child
What freedom means
And they will say “I don’t know
How do I know something that’s not shown?”

So funny this world is full of politics
Full of tricks
To fulfill their antiques
Then the poor child ends up in the streets!
Given rotten sweets

Apparently I’m a born-free
Apologise to all but I don’t feel that way
When my dreams shatter into dust
When the lights finally shine bright
So the intake of drugs heals them
So that they’re actually “free” and
Detached

From the word “hope”
Something that’s continuously said
But the opposite is done
And they have the audacity
To say that they have to be taken to a rehabilitation!

But they are the cause and reason for this abomination
As…they call it
Ask an African-American child
What does freedom mean to him
And he will say “I don’t know
How can I know
Something that is not shown?”

When I’ll be crying with my whole family
Parading in the streets, screaming in pain and animosity
“Black lives matter!”
But it seems that they can’t hear us
“Don’t shoot my hands are up and my head is down,
Please don’t shoot!”
Still, they won’t listen to us

My heart is shattered!
When they load their legal guns
And aim right at us
Just because the colour of our skin
Is different from them

But I can promise you
When they finally hit the trigger,
The bullet touches my heart
It will bleed and bleed the same colour they’re embodied with!
And don’t you dare tell me
About the law “innocent until proven guilty”!
When the evidence is right before your naked eyes
But you still end up testifying a bunch of lies!

Ask an African child what freedom means
And they will say…
“Freedom is not known
How can I know something that is not shown?”