We can invent Kingdoms of our own
grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust
& love we must, in beds of rust Steel doors lock in prisoner's screams
& muzak, AM, rocks their dreams
No black men's pride to hoist the beams
while mocking angels sift what seems To be a collage of magazine dust
Scratched on foreheads of walls of trust
This is just jail for those who must
get up in the morning & fight for such Unusable standards
While weeping maidens
Show-off penury & pout
Ravings for a mad staff