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Save those who know
the same womb,
few sing my praise.
Many wish me low—
to fill the waiting tomb:
outing me as, if a fueled blaze.
How long will i be their prey…
how long will i be slain at will…
why must I fear each day…
why must I fear being today’s prized kill?
Is it something
that unfortunately i lack
or just because
I’m young gifted and black?
Of this tell-tale theme
the world and I know
‘cause I remain on the scene
you’re being driven insane
finding I’m of amaranthine fame.
You may kill the dreamer
but the dream will not go away.
It’s impossible to exterminate her;
new black lives are born each day.
Yes, you may wield you blazing gun;
and my read blood of courage may yet run;
but one thing I know, and it’s not an extreme;
you can kill the dreamer—but not the dream.
