Black dreams are worth nought in this slave ship existence
A place of white doves, white land and white faces untarnished
Where fine tar-like skin is smouldered away
And fractured dark souls are spat on
All we have left are barefooted merlots and cartons of Marlboro’s
Slave-bound cashiers decaying with us, their sullen faces shouting words of contempt and sympathy
Knowing that we make houses burn and speakers burst without sedatives
Laugh, rejoice and love with drugs numbing our trenchant pains
Ordained for royalty; but dying on the inside