Dawn, before I wrote this song,
A man is still a man, but not for long.
How, just across the town,
A killer wears a Chauvin-istic frown.
Sidewalks, street talks, cars and alleys,
Where we live is where we lie.
Photographs and planned attacks,
Who knows what can be found?
This is not a man to us, so put him to the ground.
Softly-stepping gentle giant,
Strong hands guide loved-ones along,
Still the man does all he can,
Knee right on his neck.
Bliss is something that I miss,
Free enough to move the way I wish.
Breath. A simple pleasure, yes.
In and of itself expressionless.
Cuffs and chains and domination,
Face-down in hypoxic haze,
Stacks of blame and mounds of shame are mounted on his back.
Trained at robbing dignity, there's nothing that they lack.
Softly-stepping gentle giant,
Strong hands guide loved-ones along,
Still the man does all he can,
Knee right on his neck.