So Many

I remember growing up in Walter Simmons
One of a hundred thousand; public housing
All across this wealthy land
On a cold day one late December
I saw a brother die; before my eyes
By the hand of another man
Sometimes I still see his fear
That sound of thunder I can hear
Another black life that didn't make the New Year

So many of us lived these stories
There is no blaze of glory
Only the scars of ghetto worries
And so many mothers I hear calling
Screaming their children's name; as they lay slain
Never to breathe or smile again

I now perceive so vividly my childhood hunger
Our food stamps never lasted the whole time
I couldn't understand it when I was younger
But as a man, I fully comprehend
It was all by design

So many of my people can't see
Systemic unjust; shouldn't equal self-destruct
We're drowning in our own iniquity
And so many generations have fallen
Driven by their condition; on a suicidal mission
Exterminating in our own kitchen

I need someone to listen

Cause so many of my brothers don't see twenty
We perpetuate the plan; again and again
With our own blood on our hands
And so many of us pray for better days
One hundred years of rage; has kept us in a cage
Another set of chains for the history page