Matt Hughes - No More The Dream | Текст песни

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• Matt Hughes
• No More The Dream

No. the two legged beasts that walk like men, play stink finger in their crusty asses while crackling babies in napalm coats; stretch mouths to receive burning tears on splitting tongues. JUST GIVE ME A COOL DRINK OF WATER BEFORE I DIE.
No. The gap legged whore of the eastern shore, enticing Europe to COME in her, and turns her pigeon-shit back to me. to me, who stroked the coal that drove the ships which brought her over the sinuous cemetery of many brothers.
No, the cocktailed afternoons of what can I do. In my white layered pink world, I’ve let men cram my mouth with their black throbbing hate, and I swallowed after I’ve let your mammies steal from my kitchens (I was always half-amused). I’ve chuckled the chins of your topsy-haired pickaninnies. What more can I do? I’ll never be black like you (HALLELUJAH)
No. The red-shoed priests riding palanquined in barefoot children country. The plastered saints gazing down beneficently, on kneeling mothers picking undigested beans from yesterday’s shit. I have waited, toes curled, hat rolled, heart and denitals in hand on the back porches of forever. In kitchens and fields of rejections on cold marble steps of America’s White Out-House in the drop seats of buses and the open flies of war. No more, the dream that you will cease haunting me down in fetid swamps of fear, and will turn to embrace your own humanity which I AM. No more, the hope that the razored insults which mercury-slide over your tongue, will be forgotten, and you will learn the words of love: Mother, Brother, Father, Sister, Lover, Friend.
My hopes, dying slowly, rose petals falling beneath an autumn red moon, will not adorn our unmarked graves. My dreams, lying quietly, a dark pool under the trees, will not carry your name to a forgetful shore. And what a pity! What a pity that pity has floded in upon itself. And old man’s mouth, whose teeth are gone. And I……I have no pity.

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