I feel guilty for having a good day when,
A brother or sister gets shot by a cop then,
The media pretends that the issue is brand new,
But it ain't, we're numb and don't know exactly what to do,
Besides protest, pray, join a Black Bank, sign petitions, and vote,
And go on social media, read, post our grief, and quote,
Feelings, history, laws, funerals, videos, rights, and life,
It is my problem, your problem, and everyone's problem, right?
When the powers that be fail to see the error of their ways,
The fearful find comfort in our pain and still reminisce about the "good ole days",
When we knew our place, as bounty hunters with hounds chased us through the mud,
Crawling toward freedom crushed under hand and foot like a bug.