my God of songs came to me 
last night with a load of songs 
who am I to walk away from Him? 

my God of songs came last night
He wove for me a string of beads 
He hang it around my neck 
who am I to refuse the string of beads 

the affairs of this land are like 
a load of granite rock on the head 
when you carry it your neck cracks 
if you refuse to carry it you are maimed 

so we are on slippery grounds 
if you are on board mind your steps 

what God will cure me from the aches, 
from the shrills of fellows in sleep, and 
don't hear the sobs of mothers 
who cover the groans 
of children on the streets? 

if you don't know, it is time to 
emmerse your soul in exorcising rhythms
 
yesterday the poor took their case 
to the World Bank 
they couldn't enter the strong room 
so they walked on the streets 
with my God of songs groaning behind them 
what they needed was a tap on the shoulder 
to dissolve their bodies 
in the exorcising rhythms 

it is not the morning coffee they want 
it is just a little space 
in the nose to breathe 
afterall what does the nose want 
is it not just a little breathing of clean air?
 
let someone tell the Cardinal in New York 
my grandfather's nose has been broken 
in collecting the levy for Cadillac car owners 
we had no stretcher to carry him 
to the hospital 
when we got to the hospital 
the doctor was on leave 

we looked then for our medicinemen 
we were told they were long dead 
their mat needles, ankle bells 
goatskins and the diviner's bags 
hung in a museum somewhere 

let someone say it again 
these bones may be crunched 
but their spirits will not break 
until they make a reckoning 
in the dark pages of history 

let me ask, in this age of space going 
who will sing with the Bishop down the street 
"As it was in the beginning, so shall it be" 

but, how was it in the beginning, by the way? 
who does not know in the beginning 
God called us by name and that 
is the name we want to be called henceforth? 

before someone went into space 
we set the Stonehenge down, 
moldered the pyramids and created 
Timbuktu, which evilness razed down
 
so, stop calling me 
the wretched of the earth, 
toiler of the land 
while setting fire to my home 
do you know the yelling of women 
is worse than men's 

before sundown our women will be here 
and you will cluck like 
a jumble of chickens shot 
so be it as it was in the beginning