Black lung
Black life
The black hole stuck inside my half-black, heavy heart
As if these stupid words might play some part in status quos, in sleeper holds, in middle pa**age or tobacco roads
Just like four-hundred years of loaded guns might somehow be undone by singing songs like they were bricks when we're, we're trading lives for loose cigarettes, and blackened eyes, and blackened lungs, and free TVs, and capsicum clouds
And if there is a god, well, she don't care at all if we, we sing the songs, we throw the bricks
We're trying to breathe but we're choking on words like pig
And I'm just trying, I'm trying to breathe again
It changes nothing but I...I guess I need to pretend
And I'm just trying, I'm trying to breathe again
It changes nothing but sometimes it helps to pretend