THE LIONS DEN

{BLACKEST SPACES OF A MANS HEART}
THE SOUND AS THIS FUNK IS DROPPED...


And you got me thinkin black...

Not that black that they want me to be...

The weak docile one that aspires to think that race dont matter when things is very apparently that way.

No... You got me thinking of the deepest black that can be... A man proud of his ancestory... Of his link to thee...

A queen of this planet where we find ourselves located... Floating in the blackest places of I as antimatter...

You got me thinkin black cause it lingers in your tones and I like that... Holding out my hands in your darkness...

Blinded by your light... Oh I... Oh I. Want to touch you. Oh I... Want to touch you... 

And I... Oh I gotta.

These words lingering in the pit of my stomach... The darkest fibers of my diaphram.

Gotta... Gotta... Say em to you.

The pupil of a mans eyes connected to black as surely as the night... A dark drop visually into the heart and soul of these manifestations that we call life...

Rising and falling with various levels of impact... A rising crescendo and a hushed fine... The laugh of a baby and the cries of an old man... These existences and we... We live on.
You got me thinkin of old times where our ancestors fought, were enslaved and dreamed of better days... Where they thought by now that we would be free... And we... We still gotta get free...
Black in Amerikkkka still aint free...Still paying to inhabit these skins...
Trapped by white lies cause black just aint dark enough to manifest thus... Not the melanin.
You got me thinking origins and infinite possibilities...
You got me thinking black.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY