Mike Ladd - Feb. 4 '99 (For All Those k**ed by Cops) lyrics

It's all confused and beautiful Like Cambridge Ma** Like Roberts upon Roberts and Sylvias and Bushes and pawns and projects and steeples Sweet Ivy with acid leaves Like chips and the air is sharp And at 16 I saw the snows turn purple at the top of the world And the green carpet of the plateau went so warm the sight alone could feed children Old men and women pray with their whole bodies in dust, length by length around temples And I couldn't play basketball for sh** so my friends made me toss a gla** bowl in the dark to test my coordination sk**s The sting on my knuckles when it slipped through, everything slipped and dropped [?]SU Boston style[?] In the Himalayas five boys and a pound of ghee for Ramadan omelets at 4 AM with Reyhan Coaxing God in my ears, the mullahs' song bouncing off mountains, down to plains and off to horizontal stars I don't wear saffron And I won't cheat my feet out of a pair of soles Kraft macaroni and cheese all week long tastes better in the company of cousins Uncle Jimmy joking about spaghetti and peanut bu*ter His Laz-E-Boy all duct taped and plastic Luke and Lauren learning how to get it on in front of my little face while I'm waiting on Easy Reader All I know is when it's cold, hazy, and you're high The Great Zimbabwe looks as if it's being born in this morning Stretching out of the mists like the world was an egg to emerge from That keef, and fez, and the wet of two lovers making room for me Allow we to be cradled in folds that should be eternal If I could be cradled in a boat of wombs within a womb Odysseying through the worlds I'd be there now, fully drenched All I know is Jesus, Vishnu, Mohit, Taurus, Osiris, Odin, Muhammad all wait in line for seconds just like me That we are put together by ma**es of eternal trinkets of matter from the cosmos in the bathroom And that they disappear and reappear like worlds between matter That mountains, seas, and sidewalks won't justify this But they will serve Serve like universes Somehow bullet holes in steel doors look like a collection of constellations trapped to catch the wrath of idiots And we are the size of constellations in the path of wrathful idiots And all these heroes we will map the sky with come across arcane next to off duty demons in denim And you would think that Cambridge would finally buckle under its own ego That the Himalayan stones would melt and somehow drown the right people That Shona ghosts would rise and fly vengeance That the very matter from every crossed path would turn resolute and shatter themselves for justice (Instrumental Interlude) But no, the world is too beautiful for that Too beautiful to let go pain Too confused to leave out the stain But if days are numbered, the day will come, and they will serve