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• Artiste: Sister City
• Titre: Boma
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The blood of my ancestors Flows shamefully through my veins They would cut out my tongue If they heard the things I sing I have a marker And a mind to vandalize Like I did to my desk When I was five What's changed since then Is a deep appreciation For the finer things This side of martyrdom I set a second timer on the alarm clock I've got a busy day tomorrow That I can't afford to miss Countless counter-culture costumes I've got to see which one will fit I've got half a mind to sleep till 3 And opt out of opportunity So fuck it It's not a crime But I think it should be Then again there's always something To be done And boys, no excuse me men With a mythology of justification I may stretch my words But you stretch the truth So hammer out the meaning In a solitary grain of sand And I will raise my hand And swear on sacred writing My alliegience to my country And my god, whichever one you want I will retract what I have said And I'll undo what I have done And our hearts would beat In anti-solidarity Between tradition, coincidence And geography I've got half a mind to sleep till three But fitfully The blood of my ancestors Survives in me That's a hell of a responsibility And our eyes would meet Then avert themselves immediately Between embarrassment, reluctance, and psychaitry I've got half a mind to sleep till three But fitfully The blood of my ancestors Survives in me That's a hell of a responsibility